#I've been so mentally exhausted these past few weeks

[bbybearcubbs]

I'M NOT DEAD!

[kyaruun]

i didn't mention this here yet but. guess who's a graduated computer engineer (❁´◡`❁)

[residenthughes]

persuasion - jack hughes

pairing: jack hughes x fem reader

word count: 5.7k

tags/warnings: college/university au, fluff, slight angst?, fratboy! jack (he's sweet in this, dw), mentions of alcohol/drinking, no mention of y/n

summary: you get a bit more than you bargained for when paired up with all-american hockey star, jack hughes.

notes: hi. it's been a (long) while since i've posted on here. not to mention, i'm back writing about someone a bit different 😭 but i've recently gotten into the nhl and this fic is the result of me drunkenly coming across this photo a few days ago. despite the changes on this blog, i hope this post finds you well and that you enjoy this (poor) attempt of me getting back into writing. much love <3

The end of the semester couldn’t have come sooner. Swapped with what was possibly the busiest you’ve ever been, the sweet relief after submitting your last assignment was unparalleled and lulled you to a much deserved slumber, only to be awoken by a barrage of messages pinging from your bedside table. Disgruntled, your arm extends in search of your phone, groaning into your damp pillow as you blink away the tired film coating your eyes and read the messages from your best friend.

frat house party tonight, presence is mandatory! 

all the girlies are onboard, your sexy ass better be ready by 9!

Another groan emits from you, exhaustion seeping through your bones at the mere mention of doing something else besides rotting in bed. You’re about to type some incoherent excuse, but your best friend beats you to it.

apparently, z and his guys are going. 

chances are jack’s there too.

There’s a messy stutter in your chest upon reading the message and suddenly, you’re more awake than before as you gingerly sit yourself up in your bed. Of course, she’d mention he was going just to convince you further. You weren’t even aware she knew of your crush. Considering you hadn’t mentioned him much besides when asked, his name being referenced feels more intrusive than it should be. Then again, as perceptive as she is, there was no denying the fact.

Jack and yourself had worked on a group project earlier in the semester, which is how the two of you had crossed paths. Upon hearing of the task at hand, you couldn’t help but let out a sigh because you were never a fan of working with others you didn’t know, but considering none of your friends took your class, it seemed like the perfect opportunity to get to know others and build your social circle. When your assigned group had got together towards the end of the lecture to discuss formalities and such, you hadn’t expected the whirlwind that was to come in the presence of a sandy brunette haired boy. 

Jack is as easy-going as he is charming. Cracks a couple jokes and suddenly, all the ice isolating your group dissolves to water and there are constant hums of conversation bouncing off every member of your group. He’s nice too, considerate of everyone’s schedule and what tasks they felt confident in completing, never uttering a word of complaint unless warranted. It’s interesting, he’s interesting, you think to yourself. Perhaps due to the fact that since he’d revealed himself to be in a frat, you had some preconceived notions as to what his personality would be like and maybe at times, he’d fit that stereotype to a tee, there were other times he’d stray away from it completely and leave you curious as ever.

Peculiar is what you’d describe those few weeks to be, your interest gravitating towards any relation to Jack. Heart beating as you walked past your university’s ice arena, knowing he practically lived on the ice beyond his time in class. Eyes lighting up when he texted in the group chat, mental fuzziness plaguing you every time you sat across from one another as you completed your portion of work in the university’s library. You’d be a fool to dismiss the budding attraction you felt towards him, spinning your world round but also leaving you feeling so unsure of everything, yourself included. There’s no scarcity of girls who like him, it proved to be difficult resisting the All-American hockey star with looks to match. However, taking into account the sheer volume of attention directed his way everyday, your lingering glances didn’t seem to be much more significant. So, one-sided this crush remains to you, storing away the quiet memories of shared laughs and time spent together in a place close to your heart. 

That was until he invited you to his game, shortly after your project had been submitted for assessment. You wanted to go, you wanted to go so badly that you agonised over the decision for longer than necessary, but ultimately, as you laid awake that night, eyes blazing red with fatigue, doom scrolling to further delay your dreams, the evidence for your answer surfaced. It was nothing but a silly Instagram post from one of his friends, Trevor Zegras, the boyfriend to one of your friends. A collection of typical photos: the boys, hockey and more of the antics they got to. It’s in the last slide where in the background of a recent football game is none other than Jack, in all his handsome glory, grinning ear to ear as a girl envelopes him in a hug that feels too intimate to be seen. Embarrassment runs your skin hot and jealousy leaves a bitter taste in your mouth, the thought of you entertaining anything more than platonic with Jack a pipedream at best. Naturally, there can be so many explanations for the photo, but what rings true is that you’ve made yourself vulnerable to heartbreak, which is nowhere to be found on your agenda. So, you call it a night, turning off your phone and hoping to put the crush behind you come tomorrow.

And, it works for a bit. Jack doesn’t text you further and you don’t run into him on campus. Summer soon approaches and the last few days before your break have you buzzing with excitement for all the plans you have lined up. Your world doesn’t hinge on every interaction you have with Jack and your mind is freed from the shackles of mulling over every detail in said interaction. It’s liberating and you’d like to keep it that way. A fleeting crush, you reason, all said and done with. A mantra you repeat to yourself as you respond back to your best friend, gleaming as you and your group chat discuss outfits options and pinterest inspired makeup looks. 

-

There’s nothing better than being with your girls, you’re reminded, as the buzzing excitement never fizzles as the night stretches on. Controlled chaos dominates the night as you pack into one friend’s rooms to get ready together, helping each other with eyelash extensions and annoying back zippers. Someone makes the suggestion to drop by the campus bar for a drink or two, just to ease the nerves, and it turns out to be a great idea because by the time you stumble out of the bar and towards the frat house, the party’s in full swing. 

Trashed lawn and red cup galore, the music somehow manages to reach outside the house with hoards of people dotted around and inside the house. With the merry buzz you’ve got from the bar, confidence details your movements as you lead your friends with clasped hands into the packed house, mumbling a thousand ‘sorry’s as you trample on through the crowded hallways to find yourselves in one (?) of the living rooms. 

Hands suddenly grasp at yours and you’re thrown into a fit of giggles as your friends tangle themselves up in a messy but fun dance. You follow suit, fully relishing in the euphoria of the night and the found family you have in these girls as you dance and chatter until you have no choice to venture into the kitchen for a refreshment. 

Surprisingly, the kitchen is vacant as you push through towards its door you were directed to, scanning the room amongst belongings to find some mixer for your helping of vodka stashed away in your purse. Despite your better judgement, you resort to apprehensively searching through cupboards on your tippy toes in search for mixer and as you’re about to open the last cupboard, the kitchen door opens. 

“Looking for something?”

Goosebumps arise and your heart stills. You know that voice like the back of your hand, the same voice that echoes in the back of your mind and whispers sweet nothings in your ear when you dream. The fact that he’s so ingrained in your memory makes you curse at yourself, teeth gnawing on the plumpiness of your bottom lip as you attempt to recollect your racing thoughts. With a quiet breath, you sink back from your elevated posture and turn towards the source of the voice, blinking like a deer caught in the headlights. 

It’s comical how such a simple sight renders you a loss for words. In the doorway of the large kitchen stands Jack, shoulder and head leaning against the doorframe as he looks at you with an expectant look and a cheeky grin to match. His legs are crossed at the ankles and he’s holding a beer, but he’s got this pearl white long sleeved polo on with washed out jeans and a black snapback to top it all off. The outfit in itself is so simple and yet, here you are, heart being sent into overdrive as the effortless combo drives you wild. Sets your skin alight and conjures up electricity that pulses through you like wildfire.

“Lemonade,” you gracefully croak out, gesturing towards your empty red cup. “I didn’t bring much to mix my drink with.”

“Here, I’ll help you with that,” he reassures you, bouncing off the door frame as he draws closer to you, your feet absently shifting a few steps backwards. “No need to back up. I don’t bite, you know?”

You huff at the comment, realising how foolish his mere presence makes you and will yourself to relax, shoulders easing down from your ears as you watch Jack search through the cupboards. It doesn’t take him long to find what he’s looking for, pulling out a large bottle of lemonade that coasts against the marble of the countertop. 

“Feel free to use as much as you like, I never usually have this myself anyways.” insists Jack, turning himself around with his back against the countertop, arms crossed his chest with a peering eye directed to you. 

“How thoughtful of you.” you jester as a brief chuckle is shared between the two of you, the loud thumps of heavy bass music sounding from beyond the kitchen door as silence settles between the two of you. 

“It’s been a while, how’ve you been?” he asks, undivided attention focused on you as you pour the last of the lemonade. If not for the embarrassment of spilling your drink in front of him, the unsolicited awareness he’s currently given you would have resulted in exactly that, so you stop yourself and give him a convincing smile.

“I’ve been good, thanks. It’s the end of the academic year, I have no more complaints,” you muse, bringing the cup to your lips as you peer over the rim to look at Jack, his long lashes fluttering as his focus remains you. Your heartbeat picks up its pace. “What about you? Frozen four’s a big deal, but winning the championship is even bigger.”

Jack gives a lighthearted laugh, smugness adjusting his posture as his shoulders move back and his chest puffs out. Meanwhile, he gives this half shrug and grin that has heat gravitating towards the apples of your cheeks. It’s one of the things you like about Jack, how confident and sure of himself he is without it being overbearing and unappealing. It feels assuring, not having to dim your own light for the sake of his own comfort. 

“Yeah, that was nuts, I can’t lie. We had a really good run and I think our efforts really showed for themselves in that case,” Jack responds, taking a swig of his beer. “Christ, I sound like I’m talking to the media or something.”

“Well, consider this practice for when you join Jersey in the future,” you simper, snickering as you take a sip of your own drink. “I’m sure you’ll have plenty of fun speaking to the media.”

He gives an eyeroll, amusement prominent in the way his eyes twinkle and you can't help but laugh more. “So you say. How did you even know about Jersey?”

Your laugh is cut short, ice cold realisation washing over you like a bad hangover as his words hang in the air like a gauntlet waiting for its descent. Of course, this was nothing to be caught off-guard by considering how much your university boasts about how Jack, amongst other talented players, were drafted before committing to your university. However, the painful memory of you awake one late night doesn’t escape you, said night spent hesitantly typing his name into Google to come across all the info you knew to confirm how great of a hockey player he was. You feel shameful even looking him in the eyes right now.

So, your eyes stray from him, the somewhat sticky floor being the source of all your interest. “Who doesn’t know? Our uni does a good job of reminding us of everyone that’s been drafted.” 

You decide to spare a glance at Jack, taking in how a pinkish hue decorates the surface of his cheeks as his lone hand goes to scratch the back of his neck. The timidity that clouds his movement evokes a simper out of you, one that you direct into your cup, its contents rapidly draining under the weight of your continued conversation.

“Oh, man. Maybe, I shouldn’t have asked that,” he jokes, smile all pearly white and heart fluttering. “Can’t blame a guy for being nervous, no?”

“Nerv-”

Suddenly, the kitchen door bursts open and a flood of drunken students come barrelling in, hollering as their drinks splash to the floor and chaos ensues. You’re just as confused at their unexpected appearance as you are at the comment Jack made, but before you have a chance to ponder further, a warm hand settles against the small of your back followed by the gentle waft of Jack’s aftershave, a mixture sea salt with a hint of lavender and spicy nutmeg. It takes everything in you for your knees not to buckle.

“Let’s head out back.” he whispers, breath fanning over your neck as his fingertips ignite fire against your skin. 

Abruptly, you clear your throat, mindlessly nodding along as you blindly follow him out back, Jack’s larger build serving as a shield of sorts as he seamlessly navigates his way through the hordes of students. He does so with your hand in his and as much as your internal monologue unleashes panicked squeals at the contact, you revel in his touch - calloused hands that hold yours like porcelain, warm hands that match together like the universe and all its stars. 

A cool breeze blankets your skin and your focus shifts from your inner thoughts, taking in the generous and lush green outdoor space with sparse camping chairs circling a bonfire and a large tree further up ahead draped in fairy lights. There’s some people here too, but the atmosphere is a 180 from the mayhem inside, hushed light-hearted conversations exchanged beside the lit bonfire with the faint smell of weed filtering through the crisp air. The dazzling fairy lights blind you into bumping into Jack’s back, apologising with a laugh before he collapses onto the daisy white hammock before you. 

You follow suit with the carefree attitude Jack gives you, but you miscalculate horrendously because you don’t fall into the place beside your crush, but into his lap. Shock runs through your veins like ice as your bewilderment freezes you in place, mouth gaping open as you turn to face Jack in absolute horror. He seems to fare better with the unexpected contact, enlarged azure eyes showing his awe and yet his hands are in all the right places - supporting your waist as your weightless body struggles to hold its own. 

“I’m-“ the hairs on your neck are standing and you’re close to crying, the heat of your mortification burning your body hot like a furnace. “-so sorry. I didn’t-I didn’t even-“

“Relax, you’re good,” the chill of his beer against your skin sends a shiver down your spine, the feeling intensifying by the thousands as Jack’s thumb gives your exposed skin the smallest caress. You’re sure you’re the personification of shock at how every inch of your features displays pure alarm. “Unless this was your plan?”

You’re shoving him before your brain is able to comprehend its commands, your flustered state leaping out of his lap and collapsing back alongside him this time, hands clasped over your eyes as you take the time to maybe calm down. “What frat house even has a hammock anyways?”

“Rachel - Z’s girl - thought it’d be a nice touch for the garden,” you hear Jack mumble, but you’re too busy nursing your ego to fully immerse in conversation. “You’re friends with her, right? You guys came in together.” 

“Keeping an eye out for me, Hughes?” 

Apparently, your ego isn’t as bruised to make such a comment, a smirk finding itself onto the surface of your face as you’ve yet to remove your hand from your vision.

“It’s hard to keep my eyes off you.” 

You freeze in place, the heaviness in your stomach incomparable with the hammering of your heart against your chest as your brain picks apart Jack’s comment at the speed of light. None of the comments Jack has made throughout your entire conversation have gone over your head, the flirty undertones as clear as day. He wasn’t as up front with his compliments when you two first started working together, the furthest compliment he’d given denoting how nice you looked despite rolling out of bed twenty minutes beforehand. His directness makes your eyebrows furrow, or rather his intentions have you looking around as if you could find some answers. Perhaps this is how Jack is at parties - all pleasant with a careful flirtation that gradually pulls you inwards. Or maybe, this simply is the case of him showing his interest in you. The concept is not lost on you, but there is still apprehension that manifests within you, for reasons you are yet to discover.

You’re about to say something, your parted lips issuing a single incoherent syllable that dissolves on your tongue when the faint murmur of country music from a group of guys up ahead takes your notice, Jack’s nose scrunching with delight as he exclaims, “Ah, what a banger.”

Your eyebrow quirks upwards, merriment spreading against your features. “I never pegged you as the country type.” 

“Well, I’m not a Drake guy, I’ll tell you that much.” Jack shifts in his seat, extending his arm out behind your back. 

“So, a belieber then?” you jester, taunting eyebrows raised as you can’t keep your snicker to yourself when you watch Jack roll his eyes with the same grin.

“If that makes you happy, then yeah,” Jack reasons nonchalantly, whereas you make a pathetic attempt at stopping the stammer in your chest. “But no, that’s pretty much all that plays when my brothers and I wakesurf in the summer, unless Z is on the aux. Then, he and Quinn have a go at each other for it.”

Chuckles emit from your lips as you picture the image of a sunny summer day out on a boat, Jack’s older brother, Quinn, and Trevor becoming enemies of silence as they bicker over music choices. A warm fuzziness embraces you, the image placing you right beside Jack as laughter bubbles between the two of you whilst Luke wakesurfs in the background. It’s a honeyed depiction, all rose-tinted and for you to hold close to your heart along with other fantasies you allow yourself to entertain.

“We’re planning on going back to our summer house upstate where we do loads of other stuff,” Jack trails off, his fingers tapping against the glass of his bottle as you two share a look between each other. His eyes flicker downwards almost immediately, the top of his ears crimsoning. “You should stop by sometime. It’d be good to see you over the summer.”

For someone as confident as Jack, these rare glimpses of timidity demonstrate themselves as a pure anomaly. So, you can imagine your surprise at not only his incredibly generous offer but also his sheepish demeanour; gaze never aligning with yours as you feel his fingers fiddle with the material of the hammock behind your back. The sight enamours you, a rush of endearment washing over you as you lean into the feeling, not bothering to hide the wide smile growing across the expanse of your face. 

If this is what awaits you at their summer house, you’re already packed and ready to go.

“I could be persuaded.” Jack’s already rolling his eyes and against his better judgement, he finds himself chuckling with you too. 

When your amusement blends into the night sky, Jack's eyelids fall halfway, gaze steady as he mirrors your prior smirk that’s all but gone with the quiet wind. “And, what would that involve?” 

A moment is shared between the two of you. Burning bright like a star and erupting fireworks in your fingertips as your eyes linger on one another longer than explanatory. The landscape of his dotted moles capture your attention first, your sight leading itself to the galaxy-like twinkle dazzling in the ocean blue of his eyes. It’s so precious, this point in time - so delicate and intimate that it feels like a secret, whispers of infatuation pulling you together by their invisible strings as Jack’s extended arm circles your shoulders. You lean in, the temptation of his lips calling your name. Earlier restlessness ceases to exist as your movements read as second nature, the bruising of your chest accompanying the fuzziness that dances in your stomach as Jack leans into too.

“Yo, Jack!”

The moment is all but gone, burst like a bubble as both your heads turn in the direction of the voice, spying one of Jack’s friends, Cole, standing on the porch with a hand clasped around his mouth.

“Get your ass in here, we’re playing Jenga!”

A string of unpleasantries filter through Jack’s mouth in the form of a murmur, remnants of your interrupted kiss lingering as Jack gives your shoulder a gentle squeeze and gives you the most apologetic look you’ve ever seen. Puppy eyes and pouty lips, an image you lock away in your heart forever. 

“Did you wanna head in?” He gives you the choice, head tilted to the side as he studies your expression whilst you ponder the inquiry.

The almost kiss is something to behold and if this has occurred weeks prior amidst the intensity of your crush, you would have begged and pleaded to stay, hinging on the hopes of whatever this is being fabricated once again to fulfil your fondness dreams. But, this feels different. It feels sold, as opposed to balancing upon shaky possibilities. This is undeniable, a point in time that is infinite and kissed upon by destiny. A junction you can return to time and time again.

“Yeah, I’m sure my friends are looking for me anyways,” you unravel yourself from Jack’s loose grip, hoisting yourself up before you turn to face him with a soft beam. His expression reads unsure, gaze scattered before he looks upwards before your sneakers knock against his impossibly white Air Forces. You nod towards the house, the giddiness building within you exceptional as your hand extends out to meet his. “Let’s head in together?”

It comes out more of a question than a statement, but you could care less when Jack gives you that soft smile that’s only reserved for you, grabbing a hold of your hand after he brings himself off the hammock before you proceed to return back to the party.

The bustling atmosphere appears to have maintained itself in your absence, hundreds of conversations mixing in with the booming sounds of some bass heavy hip hop song. You nod your head to the beat, grinning when you see familiar faces in the crowd as you trail behind Jack yet again, following him in promise of your friends who Cole had mentioned joined their group’s game of Jenga. You make do with getting down the stairs of the basement without tumbling due to their frigid nature, face instantly lighting up as you catch sight of your friends, collapsing into a fit of excited hugs and shared giggles as you all catch up on the events of the party.

Amidst all the dialogue, some of which you’re assuming Jack’s sorority brothers and friends make quick work of getting the bare room ready, arranging beers for everyone as the box of Jenga is brought out. The weight of concentrated eyes seers into your goosebump-riddled skin and by the time you volunteer to assemble the Jenga tower, you’re more than aware of Jack’s attention on you. Even with how overflowing the confidence you possessed was as you left the back garden, the heat of his gaze reduces you to a sheepish mess, antsy hands uncertain of their movements as you attempt to achieve some standard of normalcy, your eyes avoiding his. It’s when your hands accidentally touch that you cannot avoid it much longer, peering through clumpy eyelashes with a flush that feels as vivid as painted glass. 

A lone corner of his lips inclines, his look of allurement tangled with blatant attraction enough to make you knock over some of the Jenga pieces. A deep chorus of disapproving sounds holler at your actions, your sheepishness fended off by the laughter amongst you and Jack as you continue to assemble the tower again, this serving as the last of your communication before the Jenga game commences.

Every Jenga piece taken out of the tower involves a dare that has laughter erupting from the pits of your stomach or mouth gaping open at the gull others possess whilst intoxicated. With the muffled sounds of the music upstairs and endless talk in the room, merriment captures your heart in a gentle squeeze as the dares carry on, the harmless fun quickly becoming one of your favourite memories in recent times.

It’s your turn to go and the frat guys are already teasing you with endearing nicknames, putting a smile on your face as your hands steady to pull out a tricky Jenga piece with ease. Wooden block in hand, your line of vision skims the chicken scratch of a dare with an effortless glee that’s swiftly replaced with plentiful surprise.

“What does it say?!’ exclaims Trevor, the anticipation in his voice evident as he squeals his words.

You’re reducing to your meek self again, not daring to look upwards as you enunciate your words to aid your own comprehension. “Spend seven minutes in heaven with the player across from you.”

You’re unsure whether the universe has some really good jokes up their sleeve or this is just fate to begin with because when you lift your head up, already knowing, Jack’s amused facial expression speaks for itself.  

Hollers and cheers fill the room, enough pandemonium to make you crimson as you stumble to your feet, casting a peek at your best friend with a cross between disbelief and delight. Your best friend, the same one that texted you about Jack’s presence at the party tonight, bawls her hand into a tight fist, bringing it to her chest as a sign of victory with mischief painted all over her. The ridiculousness of this farce eliminates you from ruminating about what awaits you in the closet a mere metres away. The guy most pleased with the situation opens the closet door, a few brooms pushed back into the compact space that is surprisingly clean with no cobwebs or dust in sight.

“All clean and ready for you two lovebirds,” Trevor grins with the keenness of a kid in a candy store, pushing back his long locks of hair as he sends a wink your way. “Don’t get too carried away in there, you’ve only got seven minutes.”

Jack says something in reply to Trevor’s cheeky comment but you’re too preoccupied by your own thoughts, feet carrying you to the fate of your Jenga dare as the door closes and darkness shrouds you. 

It’s silent for a minute, nothing but soft breaths and dulled whispers from outside the closet door. The closet is dangerously compact, your back up against the wall not sparing you from establishing your own personal space, the slightest shift of your shoes inevitably going to knock against Jack’s. Outside in the back garden feels so far away now, slipping through your hands as if sand with the daunting weight of unsaid expectations folding your arms and clearing a stubborn croak in your throat.

As the seconds tick on and no communication is shared, the everlasting laps you round around your mind exhaust you for the last time and you decide to face whatever this is head on, a start being making eye contact with the man that makes it the hardest thing in the world. However, with the tiniest sliver of dimmed light peaking through underneath the closet door, you can see him. Jack, in all his glory - soft and boyish, all charming in nature. The round pool blue of his eyes and the moles that dot his skin like constellations. It’s a rush of emotions, all raw and bare, to overwhelm and comfort you, with the easiness of his smile that directs your way and warms your heart like no other.

“We don’t have to do anything in here, I’d never do anything to make you uncomfortable,” Jack explains, his hand reaching to drag down one side of his face as his eyes cast away. “I hope you know that.”

This - you feel resolute in - establishing some sense of security in this room as you smile up at Jack. “The thought didn’t even cross my mind.” 

There’s a double meaning in your words and you don’t bother to correct yourself, reading in between the lines cementing itself as your favourite pastime. But, Jack knows and so do you. Perhaps you knew all along that every nook and cranny in your heart was specially reserved for Jack and no other could do. Maybe, you spent so much time in your head because this unexplored territory felt like the birth of the universe, so big and beautiful that it had more questions than answers. A forbidden fruit of sorts - a sweet mirage that the more you pulled away, gravity pulled you right back. A place where you belonged - with him in this moment forever sealed between the two of you.

Jack offers a smile in the wake of your thoughts, timid yet teasing in nature and you can’t resist, in the almost dark of the closet, grin too because this was sealed from the very beginning. Alone with infamous fratboy Jack Hughes, under some sort of awkward pretence bringing you together because you let your fears get the best of you, a stark contrast to what they are now - engulfed in thoughts, feelings of your lips against his and how this charade will come to a close, the building tension boiling till it overflows

“Hey-” you both say at the same time, silencing as you chuckle at the unison you unite in.

“Ladies first.”

“I’m more interested in what you have to say.” 

Because there’s no doubt in your mind he’ll steal the words right out of your mouth, the mere thought of those words escaping his lips the centre of all your desires.

He pauses, eyes searching yours for confirmation which presents itself in the toothy grin he struggles not to reflect, canine sinking into the corner of his lips before he responds, “If you insist.”

Jack doesn’t miss a beat as he reaches for your hand, absently tracing patterns into the skin with a thoughtful hum that proceeds his words. 

“I think I’ve been a lot more straightforward with how I feel about you, but I’d like to chance to tell you right here that I’m interested in you, in being with you. To the point that the boys get sick of me yapping about it,” you chuckle at his comment, the humour of the joke distracting you from the flood of emotions that submerges you indefinitely. “I felt this way from the time we got assigned to work together. And, if maybe you had any reservations about us, I’d do whatever it takes so that they don’t exist because you’re what matters most and that will never change.”

No feeling can compare to this. It’s almost as if you’re experiencing the full spectrum of emotions for the first time, rejoicing in the sunshine Jack basks upon you in the wake of his confession. A mirage turned reality, the colours are bright and blinding and you’re so elated within yourself that you physically cannot do more than bring Jack’s hand to your cheek to kiss his palm. A confirmation that needs no words. 

The warmth of his hand against your cheek melts you into his skin, eyelids falling shut as you revel in the tender caresses of his thumb, of his love and the unspoken words between you. A graze against your throat has your eyes fluttering open, lips parted as Jack secures his hand gently against the nape of your neck. A soft inhale escapes you as his thumb traces the corner of your mouth, dilated pupils flickering between your own and your lips.

“Can I-”

“Yes, please.” 

A star is born at the centre of your lips as they fold over one another, blending seamlessly together as you move together in synchronised harmony. You taste the remnants of beer, inhale his musky cologne and send yourself flying into another universe as Jack holds you close for impact. All your brain knows to do is convey your sentiment tenfold, kissing him as if touch starved as your fingers thread through the curls of his hair. You commit this to memory - the slowness of the kiss, the scent of his apple shampoo and his curls around your fingers, the feathery feeling of your fluttering heart and the tenderness of your hearts beating as one. So sickeningly besotted with another that everything pales in comparison.

Reluctantly, you pull away from his soft lips when the shared oxygen between you two vanishes, eyes slow to open but ultimately capturing the part of Jack’s rouge lips that quiver in your wake, his gaze meeting yours moments later. 

You kiss him again for good measure.

“Alright, horny bastards. Time’s up!” Cole’s voice thunders from beyond the door.

Lips still pressed against Jack’s, you both smile into one last kiss, just as sweet as the last. Jack savours it for what it’s worth, forehead pressed against yours as you two stand together, bruised chests aching with all the yearning that can fit into your palms.

“Consider me persuaded.” 

[onlyjaeyun]

𝐏𝐎𝐈𝐒𝐎𝐍  – 𝟒𝟖

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐓𝐘𝐄𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓: 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲

⤲ 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: 𝐋𝐞𝐞 𝐇𝐞𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐮𝐧𝐠 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦𝐚𝐥𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

⤲ 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: 𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐠𝐞!𝐀𝐔, 𝐛𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫'𝐬 𝐛𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝!𝐀𝐔, 𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐬𝐭, 𝐬𝐦𝐮𝐭

⤲ 𝐰𝐜: 𝟕𝐤 (not proofread)

⤲ 𝐜𝐰: 𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐩𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐚𝐥𝐜𝐨𝐡𝐨𝐥, 𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬, 𝐢𝐦𝐩𝐥𝐢𝐞𝐝 𝐯𝐨𝐲𝐞𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐦, 𝐨𝐫𝐚𝐥 (𝐦.𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐞𝐢𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠), 𝐟𝐚𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐥, 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐮𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

"Lee Heeseung, your girlfriend is crying again."

With your lips pressed tightly together, furrowed brows and teary eyes you land a hard smack on the back of Jaeyun's neck, basically fed up with his constant teasing after a four hour flight and having to spend the whole morning listening to his random rambles about physics and the development of the roman empire.

Your boyfriend's ears almost instantly perk up at the mention of your tears and before the barista can even hand him his change he's already busy approaching you with concern grazing his features.

"What's wrong, Baby?" Heeseung whispers the words and leaves a good amount of physical distance between you as you both can feel your brother's gaze following your every movement, only for his girlfriend to push her finger into his strong chest and scold him for being so dramatic.

All you can do is thank her with your eyes as they join Jongseong in the very back of the coffee shop, while Jaeyun waits for your drinks and has finally decided to take a break.

"These are happy tears, my love, I promise", you quickly say and reach for his face, gently caressing his cheek and loving the way your boyfriend doesn't hesitate to move further into your touch, "I just know this is going to do wonders for Wonie's mental health, I've been so worried since our last call."

Heeseung nods in agreement, his own chest still feeling heavy as he remembers the sadness in his cousin's voice throughout the entirety of your phone conversation a few days ago.

Little did either one of you know that your boyfriend and brother had been trying their best to organise a paid internship for you in one of their companies, knowing you had sent in your applications yet again after your first ones had gotten rejected. Once Heeseung got the approval from his boss, him and Hoon had decided to book the tickets for your best friend's birthday weekend because they knew you wouldn't hesitate to quit your job at the coffee shop, therefore clearing your schedule.

Everything happened way too quickly and if it wasn't for the fact you're currently looking at the huge "Welcome to Daegu" banner in the middle of the city's biggest airport, processing it all would have been a lot more difficult.

The thought of working at the same company as your brother, his girlfriend as well as your own boyfriend seemed scary but after talking to each one of them, those worries quickly vanished and were replaced by excitement instead.

And the fact a great opportunity such as this one came with the amazing clearance of your schedule and actually allowed you to be with your best friend for his birthday has been the reason for your overly emotional state these past four days.

Life finally feels good and for the first time in your life you don't have to constantly fight to survive but actually feel yourself living in the moment, mostly thanks to your loved ones.

With pouted lips and tired eyes you look up at your boyfriend and quickly bury your face in his strong, warm chest, the exhaustion from your travel journey finally catching up on you.

"I'm gonna make sure you two will have the best time ever", Heeseung sighs and wraps his arms around your shoulders, "these past few weeks have been exhausting for all of us, this is just a way for everyone to live and breathe a little."

You nod softly and kiss your way from his warm neck up to his chin before pressing your lips against his and the way your boyfriend barely hesitates to push his tongue into your mouth makes you chuckle intot he kiss.

"Calm down, big guy", you sigh and pull away once Jaeyun calls for the two of you, "Ning can only hold back my brother so much, we shouldn't test his patience."

"Yeah, you're right. I'm just glad we're not on the same floor in the hotel because I'd rather punch myself in the face for hours before I go five whole days without fucking the sweetest pussy on earth."

Seung's voice is a mere whisper, yet his unhinged words leave you completely flustered and with a roll of your eyes you bury your face in his neck again and pinch his arm to let him know how little you appreciate his teasing in public. Especially with your brother and their best friends so close to you.

Once the six of you make it to your hotel rooms, the boys decide to take a walk around the city, grab some late lunch and play some basketball in the little court in the kids area of your accommodations to pass some time but also get rid of their exhaustion. You and Ning on the other hand have decided to actually take a nap after a flight this tiring, as you wait for Sunoo, Jungwon's roommate, to finally call and let you know where the three of them had decided to spend the evening.

You didn't want to just show up at his door but rather join in on his plans and once his friend had told you about your best friend's wish to go to a night club, you got even more excited. It's been way too long since the two of you had partied together, however you'd lie if you said you actually went out to a club since moving to seoul exactly six months ago.

Too much had constantly happened, adjusting to work and university, living by yourself and of course the whole situation with your now boyfriend had basically not left any room to party.

You and the girls still occasionally went to bars yet these past few weeks life just felt too exhausting, so you usually stayed at home and kept things easy and calm.

However, now the thought of going to a club with your boyfriend and best friend excites you in the best way possible and you actually can't wait to join the boys.

By the time Heeseung comes out of the shower you've already gotten dressed, and are currently doing your best for the make uo look in your head to become reality, yet as soon as you catch a glimpse of Lee Heeseung wearing nothing but a towel around his hips, you physically can't stop yourself from eyeing him up and down.

"Don't you dare look at me like that right now, princess", he suddenly chuckles and comes to stand right behind you, his body too tall to fit into the frame of the mirror in front of you and at the sight of his pierced nipples you nervously start nibbling on your bottom lip.

"Can't help it", you sigh and take a deep breath as soon as his big hand gently wraps around your throat, his eyes fixated on your face as he remains composed, "you just look so good like this."

Unfortunately, neither one of you gets the opportunity to indulge in a short moment of intimacy, as the vibration of your boyfriend's phone right next to you pulls you both back into the reality and with a soft sigh of annoyance.

"It's Jaeyun, isn't it?"

Heeseung just nods and picks up the call with another sigh before he gives you a quick kiss and goes to get himself dressed.

Once the two of you are ready, it's taking you a lot of patience and self control not to rip your boyfriend's clothes off of him right away, the sight too tempting for your weak self.

But who in their right mind could blame you when it's Lee Heeseung in a black dress shirt, which he hasn't even bothered to button up completely, showing just the right amount of chest, combined with his casual slacks and a leather jacket.

You can't help but stare at him with big, hungry eyes, enjoying the way he seems confident and comfortable in his skin to the point where he shoots you one of his charming smirks and winks every time your gaze meets his.

However, you're pretty sure you've managed to cause the same reaction from your boyfriend, as he seems to struggle keeping his hands off of you.

Your little black dress fits your body like a glove, tight and charming in all the right places and in combination with your little jacket and your knee high boots you know you've got people's heads turning, yet all you care about is the way your boyfriend looks at you.

After about fifteen minutes of arguing how many ubers to order, you find yourself in a car with your boyfriend and his two best friend's, both of them slightly tipsy as they had decided to drink a little before leaving to avoid spending too much money on overpriced drinks and the closer you get to the club, the faster your heart starts beating.

Heeseung's hand remains on your thigh throughout the whole drive and you hate just how a touch as simple as that has already pushed you to the edge of your arousal to the point where you genuinely consider pulling him into the next alley just to get some relief.

But as soon as your phone starts vibrating in your hand and Kim Sunoo's contact name appears on your screen, you feel excitement and anticipation take over.

The second you guys arrive in front of the club, Heeseung's instinct kicks in and despite his best friend's expression of distaste, he doesn't let go of your hand and keeps you as close to himself as possible. He can't risk getting into a fight when his best friends are already as tipsy as they currently are because even if his skills are good, there's no way he stands a chance against a group without his boys having his back.

You calmly lean against the chest of your boyfriend as you wait for your best friend to finally arrive as well and as soon as you spot Nishimura Riki's tall frame get out of the nth uber passing by, a wave of relief washes over you.

Tonight is going to be a good night.

"No. Fucking. Way."

The sound of your best friend's voice sends chills over your body and with a loud squeak you pull away from Heeseung to run into Jungwon's arms, wishing him a happy birthday and taking in the warmth of his body and the comfort his hug comes with.

"You guys are fucking with me right now", he says and looks at you with his pretty eyes slightly glossier than usual, his lips stretched into a big smile until his dimples make an appearance and with a loud chuckle you just shake your head.

"This is literally the best birthday present ever." Jungwon chuckles and you love the way you can actually watch some of the heaviness on his shoulder slowly vanish as he pulls you into another tight hug.

"Then wait until Seungie tells you he's gonna pay for all the drinks tonight", you say and turn around to face said boyfriend with a big smile, not aware just how much he loves the sight of your happiness.

He casually approaches the four of you, dabbing up the two boys really quick before he pulls his cousin into a tight hug.

For some reason you can't help but let your eyes roam his tall figure for the nth time tonight, yet quickly getting it together when Sunoo elbows you in the ribs and starts giggling.

Once everyone hugged each other and Sunghoon proudly introduced the boys to Ning, you finally make your way into the club, your boyfriend's arm firmly wrapped around your waist and you can barely stop yourself from jumping his bones right then and there.

Especially once you guys find a little table to take over in the very back of the club, yet only half of you having space to sit doen and you notice all the girls shamelessly eyeing your boyfriend up and down. You know he's not paying attention to them, yet sudden waves of jealousy and possessivness overwhelm you and as soon as your brother and Jaeyun leave to get everyone the first round of drinks, you jump up from your seat and wrap your arms around your boyfriend's neck.

"They're staring at you", you whisper into his ear and place a soft kiss on his exposed neck, loving the way Heeseung seems to struggle holding himself back as you push your body against his. His grip on your hips tightens and you love how your usually so composed lover turns into absolute putty in your hands within just a few seconds.

"So what? It's you I'm staring at", Heeseung grunts and buries his face in your neck, suppressing the urge to kiss his way down to your exposed cleavage and actually litter your pretty chest in his kisses.

The loud music as well as the lack of oxygen in the club sends you into the sweetest haze of adrenaline and in combination with your boyfriend's addictive touches, you feel yourself letting go of all your worries and doubts that have been keeping you up at night these last few weeks.

"And it's me you're going to fuck tonight, right?" You tease and push your hands into his dark hair, pulling away just enough to look into his eyes, yet having to bite back a whimper at the darkness of his gaze.

"Tonight, tomorrow and for the rest of my life, princess."

His words send your brain into overdrive and with a soft whimper you hide your face in his chest and actually feel relieved when your friend starts cheering in response to their drinks' arrival and with a soft sigh you give your boyfriend one last kiss and pull away, knowing Jungwon's going to pull you to the dance floor as soon as he downs his shot.

You quickly lose track of time as soon as you find yourself dancing to the music alongside your brother's girlfriend and the boys, all of them cheering you on as you give it your all and for some reason you're not as shy as you usually are and you're quite convinced Lee Heeseung's strong gaze lingering on the whole time is the reason behind your confidence.

But it's also seeing just how happy Jungwon is, your worries and thoughts about him finally vanishing from your brain as you wrap as you watch his dance battle with the youngest of the group.

It doesn't take much more for your boyfriend to finally having had enough as he pushes his way through the crowd, completely ignoring all the girls trying their best to catch his attention, only to fail miserably. You welcome the warmth of his strong body in your back with a soft smile, pushing yourself even harder against him, knowing exactly what you're doing to him with every sway of your hips against his crotch, the bulge in his pants essily giving away your effect on him.

Heeseung's hands find home on your waist, his grip as tight as ever as he moves his body along to yours and you can't help but throw your head back against his shoulder when he suddenly starts singing the lyrics of the song into your ear, the experience feeling absolutely surreal and just when you thought he couldn't get any more perfect, you find yourself living yet another one of your daydreams.

The rest of the night is filled with belly hurting laughter, way too much screaming of wrong lyrics to the songs blasting in the club, quite a bit of bickering and stolen touches from your boyfriend. You have absolutely no idea how three whole hours pass by so quickly, only realising how much you've been dancing when Ning finally pulls you to the women's room, her drunk giggles and her attemots of a conversation all while being barely coherent pushing you into another fit of laughter and after about ten minutes of you trying to gatch your breath in front of the mirror, you hear the deep voice of your brother making its way through the door.

"We're heading out, the guys wanna eat some beef and play basketball", Sunghoon screams and can't help but smile when all he gets in response is the sound of your combined giggles, "hurry the fuck up. Seung's about to shut down the club if you two take any longer."

At the mention of your boyfriend, you feel your whole body heating up and with a soft sigh and a nibble on your freshly glossed up lips, you take one last picture with your sister in law and finally swing the door open.

This time it's Jungwon who seems to be a lot more protective over you as he takes your hand in his and guides you through the crowd to the exit of the club, feeling responsible of you while your boyfriend is busy paying for everyone's drinks.

And just as your brother had announced to you, the group makes its way to a barbecue place nearby, hungry and excited after all the dancing, only for your night to end at the basketball court you and Heeseung had found during your last stay in Daegu.

You don't even question where the hell the baskteball suddenly gomes from as you watch your boyfriend and his friends play a few food rounds, the cold february air feeling like an actual breath of fresh air after the lack of oxygen in the crowded nightclub.

By the time your body has finally calmed down from the high of adrenaline, you start processing just how cold it actually is and kind of regret not leaving with your brother and his girlfriend about half an hour prior.

To your luck, Heeseung quickly notices the way your legs seem a little shakirr than just a few minutes ago and with one last pass to the youngest of the group, you finally call it a night.

Different than you expected, neither your or his own best friends insist on leaving with the two of you and as soon as Jungwoon wraps his arms around your shoulders, you know exactly why your usually so persistent, self proclaimed favorite boy has decided to stay behind.

"Don't fuck too much, we've got an early morning tomorrow", he says and starts laughing as soon as your face changes into an expression of horror and without giving him a verbal response you opt for a slap against his chest.

Heeseung pulls you as close to his body as possible as soon as the two of you get comfortable in the back of your uber, his body still slightly cold and for a moment you're worried about his health and feel bad for taking his jacket.

"Are you co-", "I can't wait to fuck you", he suddenly whispers into your ear, casually making you choke on your words.

You instinctively press your thighs together and curse him as well ss yourself for the reactions of your body, yet genuinely enjoying the warmth his words spreads through your veins at the same time.

"Good girl", he whispers and finally starts littering your negk in open mouthed kisses the way he's wanted to do all night.

Watching you enjoy yourself and noticing all the guys devouring you with their eyes has been one of the biggest challenges Heessung has ever had to endure. Every time you denied one of those fuckers the privilege of dancing with you, he felt proud and possessive, the urge to claim you in front of them all taking over every fiber of his being within seconds.

At first he definitely felt a little worried because he's never felt as jealous and possessive over someone the way he does with you, the lack of knowledge regarding his possible reactions worrying him to the point where all he could focus on was to stay as calm as possible. Yet as soon as he saw the way you never once looked at anyone but him, Heeseung knew there's absolutely no need for him to worry. You want him and him only, and you're not shy about showing him off because you're his girl.

Only his.

"Isn't it funny that all of these people think you're this sweet, polite girl who's here to have a good time with her friends when you've been ruining your pretty panties all night thinking about my cock."

His words and their timing are well chosen, leaving you gompletely speechless and overwhelming you to the point where your ploute smile suddenly drops and you shamefully lower your head to hide yourself from the people around you.

Only when the doors of the elevator finally close and leave the two of you to yourselves do you look up at him with big, glossy eyes. A sight Heeseung would sell his soul for.

"What's wrong, princess? Use those big girl words for me, hm? I know you want to", Heeseung's lips graze yours with every single one of his words, his hot breath fanning against your heated skin and sending shivers down your spine.

A jolt of hot arousal shoots right in between your legs and with a soft whimper you grab a fistful of his hair to stop yourself from actually falling to your knees.

"I really, really want to suck your cock", you whisper against his lips and press your body further into his, "please, Heeseung. It's all I've been thinking about."

"You're so fucking cruel", he suddenly grunts and throws his head back in defeat, one of his hands finding home around your throat as he gently pushes you against rhe wall of the elevator, "stop playing with me, pretty girl. You know which one of us wins these games."

All you can do is chuckle because you both know it's not actually him, because as soon as your boyfriend gets a single taste of you, he's a complete goner and at your absolute mercy.

You can't explain what your effect on him does to your ego. You've never felt as loved, wanted and desired as Heeseung's been making you feel and despite being overwhelmed at times you've become absolutely addicted to it.

"I'll remind you of these words when I make you cum down my throat", you giggle against his lips, quickly pull away and decide to run away when the elevator doors open.

It takes Heeseung a whole moment to follow you, your words constantly repeating in his head and sending him into the depths of his arousal, something he's got yet to get used to when it comes to you. Every time you say or do something such as actually using your pretty girl words for him, teasing and playing with him, he has absolutely no idea what to do with himself. Nobody in his life has ever put him in this particular state of arousal; with you every single time feels like a whole new experience and usually ends with the urge to lay the world to your feet.

By the time he actually catches up to you, you've already pulled out your hotel room card, quickly slipping inside the comfort of your privacy and just when he thought you couldn't surprise him any further, Heeseung actually finds himself watching the way you're casually pulling your little black dress over your headc exposing your perfect body to his hungry eyes.

"F-Fuck", this time there's absolutely no way he can hide the intense reaction of his own body to your teasing and you feel your sensitive cunt clench in response to his deep grunt.

"Come here", you try your best to stay calm and composed as you wait for your boyfriend to finally approach you.

Mental images of his pretty cock in your mouth, the angry tip grazing your tits, his cum coating the muscle of your tongue and finally allowing you to indulge in one of your biggest fantasies overwhelm you, yet to your surprise, Heeseung seems to have slightly different plans.

You carefully watch the way your boyfriend basically rips open his dress shirt, exposing his tattooed chest to your greedy eyes, right before he comes to stand in front of you and actually drops to his knees without hesitation.

His big hands find home on your thighs, harshly kneading and groping the soft flesh all the way up to your ass and one of them casually reaching for one of your tits, his touch sending hot jolts of pleasure through your body.

"My face", Heeseung suddenly grunts and pushes your legs slightly apart, his nose deeply buried in your sensitive cunt and if it wasn't for his tight grip you would have lost every bit of balance you've had left, "please, Baby. I need you to sit on my face and cum all ove my tongue. I need it so bad."

Seung's gentle pleading sends shivers down your spine and for a short moment, mostly because of the way his pretty lips had found their way to your needy clit, you actually consider giving in to his request. But after weeks of begging your boyfriend for one thing and that thing only, you're determined to finally make that fantasy come true.

"No", you say and reach for his hair, grabbing a fistful of it and pulling his head away from your body with every bit of self control you've got left and as soon as your gaze drops to his flushed face, you let out a soft whimper.

There's absolutely no reason for Heeseung to look drunk every time he gets the tiniest taste of your pussy. You can't help but admire the sighg of his hooded eyes and parted lips, his whole face tainted in the sweetests hades of pink.

"But–", "I promise I'm gonna let you tongue fuck me to sleep later but I really, really want to suck you off now, Seungie."

Your tone doesn't give it away, yet Heeseung knows it's not really a request but actually a demand; your eyes widened and your hrip in his tight to the point it actually hurts his scalp, so without missing another beat, he kisses his way back up to your neck and turns you both to move himself closer to the bed until the back of his thighs hit the mattress and he has no choice but to sit down.

"Get to it then, princess", Heeseung grunts against your neck and his voice fades into a whimper once your knee gently nudges against the bulge in his pants.

After waiting for so long, you definitely don't need to be told twice and without hesitation you pull the fabric of his slavks down his thick thighs, your hand instantly finding uts way to his rock hard cock and calmly massaging him through his boxer briefs.

"Fuck, Baby", he suddenly whispers and reaches for your wrist to stop the movements of your hand, "I've been dying to fuck you all day, I don't have the patience and stamina for so much teasing."

His confession fuels the fire in your lower tummy, your heartbeat hammering in between your legs and once you meet his heavy gaze, you feel an actual urge to take him into your mouth overwhelm you.

"Is it because of me or because you didn't let any of your pretty little flings suck you off, hm?" Your question surprises him, yet you don't give him enough time to actually reflect on what you just threw in his direction as the sudden feeling of your hand reaching into the slit of his boxers to pull his rock hard cock free from its coffins and with a loud whimper of your name he can't do anything but throw his head back and buck his hips up.

"You're so hard", you sigh and feel your mouth watering at the heaviness of his length in your grip, "that's all for me, right, Seungie? Come on, how about you use your words for me now?"

"You're fucking evil", Heeseung presses through gritted teeth, his eyes rolling intot he back of his head as soon ss the sensation of your pretty lips grazing the wet tip of his cock overwhelms every single one of his senses, "only for and because of y-you, princess. Always and forever."

"Take your phone and call Sumin."

In absolutely no life time would Heeseung have expected you to ask something like that from him, especially not with your lips coated in his precum as you look up at him with those big, hungry eyes he's grown addicted to.

For a moment your boyfriend seems absolutely overwhelmed. Your request, your actual intention behind it, the feeling of your mouth on his cock, the way you're looking up at him and the fact he hasn't had anyone suck him off in actual years too much for his brain to process, whereas his body seems to have a mind of its own as he does as he's been told.

"That's my boy", you chuckle and pull his boxer brief down his thick thighs, littering the soft skin in open mouthed kisses as you use both of your hands to stroke the impressive length of his cock.

"Remember how I asked to never say my name?"

Your hot breath fans against the sensitive tip of his cock and just when you're about to pull away, Heeseung starts nodding frantically, despair and need bubbling up his throat in the form of high pitched whimpers and moans.

"Once she picks up I want you to moan nothibg but my name, okay?"

"F-Fuck", at this point Heeseung's convinced he's going to pass out from hos good you're already making him feel, despite not even getting to the actual event yet, "yes, Baby. Want you to claim me. Show her who owns me, make me proud."

Just as usual his words don't fail to send jolts of hot arousal straight into your cunt and with a soft whine you curse at him for being so casual about things like this when you've been trying so hard to stay composed.

You carefully watch the way your boyfriend dial her number, putting her on speaker and casually throwing his head back with a loud moan of your name as soon as her voice makes its way through the speaker.

With a big smile you finally wrap your lips around his cock and don't even waste too much time, taking as much of his length down your throat as possible.

"Fuck, that's my girl", Heeseung grunts and pushes his hand into your hair, his hips bucking up and theusting his cock a little further into your mouth and the lore his precum coats the muscle of your tongue, the harder your eyes roll intot he back of your head, "there you go, that's it, Y/N."

For some reason it sounds weird to hear your boyfriend use your name but you canmt help but press your thighs together at the raspiness in his voice and with each movement of your head, you can feel the way Heeseung's whole body tenses up just a little bit more.

"What the fuck?"

You don't know if that Sumin's first verbal reaction since your whole focus remains on your task at hand, the feeling of Seung's cock laying so perfectly on your tongue and the tip hitting the back of your throat with each of his thrusts taking over your senses but you donmt even try to hide just how much you love it.

After having to deal with her stupid messages and random calls you've finally had enough. You didn't want to give her the memory of a voicemail, a video or a picture and as you imagine her face of shock and envy, you can help but let out a soft hum with your lips still firmly wrapped around your boyfriend's cock.

"I love you so much", Heeseung suddenly grunts, his lids pressed shut, neck and face completely flushed and from the way his knuckles have started turning white you can tell just how much he's trying to hold himself back.

"My pretty little princess, my everything."

Maybe it's the thought of him being just as into your attempt of claiming him or maybe it's just how honest and genuine his words sound despite his current state of pleasure, yet either way you can't help but pull away with a loud gasp to look up at him.

You never once stop stroking him, the mixture of your spit and his precum enough to make you feel sloppy and as if he could feel your eyes on him, Heeseung slowly opens his own to meet your gaze with a lazy smile.

"Did you hear that?"

Thise words aren't directed at you, but Heeseung confidently refuses to shift his gaze away from your face, gently caressing your heated cheek with his hand before he wipes away your saliva from your chin.

"You're fucking disgusting."

It'd be a lie if you said her response didn't surprise you a little. You kind of expected her to either cry or having hung up by now, knowing she's still listening just boosts your ego even further.

"Thanks", Heeseung grunts and takes your face into his big hands, wordlessly telling you to take a deep breath right before he slowly pushes his cock into your mouth and all the way down your throat.

"F-Fuck, that's my perfect girl. Nobody does it like you, Y/N. You're so fucking good."

You can tell just how much your boyfriend enjoys claiming you in such a lewd and intimate manner, the thought of him being into your possessiveness like this making the whole process of deepthroating him even easier for you and with tears streaming down your cheeks you casually start swallowing around him.

"Oh, sh-shit", his voice is hoarse and raspy from his constant whimpers and moans, a sound so beautiful you never want to hear anything else in your life, "you're all I ever wanted, angel girl. My biggest dream come true, fuck."

As your head slowly starts spinning from the lack of oxygen, your can't help but whimper in response to his sweet confession and just as you pull away to gasp for air, Heeseung's whole body tenses up in a way too familiar manner.

"Look at me, princess. Wanna cum all over that pretty face and then do the same in that perfect little cunt."

Heeseung's words are lewd and unhinged, slmething you've grown way too used to in these past few weeks but for some reason yiu seem to find comfort and confidence in them.

With a soft smile you pull away just enough to look up at him, your lips parted, tongue sticking out and your eyes never once shifting away from his face to make sure you get the best view of his perfect features contorting in pleasure when he finally reaches his much needed relief.

"Fuck you both."

That's the last thing Sumin basically screams into the phone and as if he had waited for her to end the call, Heeseung stumbles head first into the waves of his climax and finishes all over your face without a single touch and your name the only thing to fall past his swollen lips; three thick spurts of his creamy cum covering most of your cheeks as well as your top lip.

"You're fucking perfect", Heeseung sighs once he manages to catch his breath, instinctively collecting his cum from your face and casually pushing it into your mouth, just to lose his mind at the way you seem to genuinely enjoy the taste of his relief.

"But now it's my turn, right, princess?"

You don't know what exactly you've expected when hearing those words, yet your boyfriend pushing your face intk the mattress and eating you out for exactly an hour definitely wasn't it. After your fourth orgasm you genuinely can't hold back the tears any longer; the overstimulation leaving your whole body in a constant state of high pressure and with soft sobs you basically beg Heeseung to finally fuck you.

But he wouldn't be true to himself if he didn't get back at you for your little remarks and comments, which is why your boyfriend is more than just determined to push you into the absolute depth of your pleasure with every single one of his thrusts. By the time you feel like you're actually about to pass out, you've long lost count on your orgasms, whereas Heeseung just gives you enough time to breathe so he can make sure you reach your seventh high of the night together.

And as he realises that you've actually blacked out from the overstimulation, Seungie can't help but smile cheekily, no matter how worried he is. And just as expected it doesn't take you longer than a minute to wake up, drool running down your chin, tears finding their way down your cheeks as you physically struggle to keep your eyes open.

"Petty bitch", you hiss and try your best not to move, yet your whole body cringing at the feeling of his thick cum soilling out if your overly sensitive cunt, "all I did was tease you a little. You did not have to do all of this."

Heeseung throws his head back and lets out a row of chuckles, his whole body flushed and coated in the thinnest layer of sweat, a sight so perfect you actually feel like you're dreaming.

"I love you so fucking much", you whisper against his lips and pull him closer to your body, actually craving the feeling of his skin against yours despite the oast three hours of physical intimacy.

And as Heeseung allows himself to take in the way you're looking at him, he actually feels tears pricking at the corners of his eyes; gratitude and disbelief meeting in the midst of his chest when he realises that his dreams have actually become reality.

"I'm so in love with you", he whispers and casually ignores how his voice breaks at the end of his sentence, "my first and only love."

After almost a decade of denying, suppressing and ignoring his feelings, Heeseung has finally found his way home and life has never, ever felt as good as this.

← 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 — 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 — 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭 →

(A/N: and this marks the last written chapter for poison, i'm absolutely NOT crying (been tearing up throughout the whole writing process) and i honestly dont even know what to say except i hope you guys liked it and know how much i love and appreciate you all. aending everyone the fattest kiss. feedback and reblogs are always appreciated!!!🥺🩷🧸)

TAGLIST CLOSED: @soonigiri @thvhannie @enhaz1 @kpoprhia @abrazosolorcereza @deobitifull @mixtape-racha @certifiedmoa @jungwon-xo @hoonieluv @enhamysunshines @jaehoonii @pussyslayerhd @ineedsomezzz @neocockthotology @heerinnie @onionzzzs @hee-pster @3amstarlight @xxxxrvexxxx @primroselover @mimikittysblog @iea-tsand @lhspeachie @xiaoderrrr @viagumi @smg-valeria @kells5595 @heeseunghee7 @xrvrqs @ddazed-lhs @heebrry @fakeuwus @dammit-jjk @ivyannemarie @thekinkpopstandsforkrackheads @s00buwu

[starstruckmoony]

Can I get a FIC abt the reader being Theodore’s gf and best friend and she’s embarrassed and alone in her dorm bc of cramps and they are REALLY REALLY bad and he just comforts her and they snuggle and he gives her his hoodie and fluffy!! (I’m dying from my cramps in my bed rn 🙏 I need comfort from my book bf)

thank you for this request anon!! i am so so so sorry for taking longer than i should have but i've just been all over the place with requests and in just general this past week 😭 so yeah i am a little late but i hope you're feeling better and that this meets your expectations <333333

in between.

masterlist , requests

pairing - theodore nott x slytherin!reader

trope/tags - fluff

word count - 1.7k

warnings - descriptive period pains

waking up in time for class was always difficult for you. not even because you were lazy or didn't care about your grades enough, but mostly because theodore, your boyfriend and number one favourite person in the world, had an annoying little habit of staying inside of your room until pansy chased him out because she wanted her beauty sleep. most of the time, that would be somewhere around two in the morning. and you had to get up at six. four hours of sleep. wonderful. usually, you didn't mind. you didn't like getting out of bed, anyway.

but this morning, you very much minded. your eyes snapped open, you weren't entirely sure what had woken you up. you grunted, irritated, and disappeared under your two blankets to shield yourself from the cold of the dawn, sighing when your realised you that you'd have to get up in no less than ten minutes. with transfiguration as your first class, too. how you loved having to turn tables into chairs first thing in the morning.

but then you felt it. a terrible sensation in your abdomen, so harsh it felt like sharp knife was slicing through you. it took everything in you not release a pained moan. the discomfort spread almost all the way to your upper thighs, coming in constant strong waves. you groaned, hiding further under the covers and curling yourself up into a ball.

you wanted to cry. not only were you exhausted, but you were also in a tremendous amount of pain. you had got your period the night before, and it was going kind of smoothly... as smooth as they go... so you weren't really expecting to wake up with a dying wish to pass the hell away barely five hours later.

pansy's footsteps sounded throughout the room, and you heard the bathroom door shut. you didn't move a muscle. a few moments later, it opened again, and she paced around for a bit, shuffling through her trunk and then your own when she couldn't find a clean pair of socks. she was humming some tune as she got ready, seeming to be in an okay mood, but then she scoffed. her steps got louder as she neared your bed, pulling the covers off of you.

"bitch, you'll be la– oh merlin, are you alive?" she was a little startled seeing you resemble the appearance of an ill victorian child, but nevertheless took a seat at the edge of your mattress, "no." you dragged out, retrieving your precious blanket. you couldn't recall the last time you felt this bloody awful.

"period cramps, huh?" she made a sympathetic face at you, very familiar with that struggle. you only nodded. she hugged you and stayed like that for a bit, before standing up and walking over to her drawer. she dug out a few chocolate frogs and tossed them over to you.

you muttered a strained thank you, collecting them all. you placed them onto your night stand, grunting. you knew that they probably wouldn't help as much as you wished for them to, but you still appreciated your friend for trying. it was the least she could do in those circumstances.

she sighed, picking up her bag and throwing it over her shoulder, "i'll tell mcgonagall you won't be coming in today." you sat up immediately, getting a bit stressed, "don't tell theo."

"huh?" she deadpanned, eyeing you like you had gone mental.

"i don't want him to worry." you explained with a shrug, wincing when the cramps got stronger. you knew what your boyfriend was like, meaning you were aware that he'd come running right to you if pansy were to tell him about the dreadful state you were in. you didn't really want him to see you like that. your head was beginning to hurt, too.

she rolled her eyes, "as if he won't come looking for you the moment he sees you aren't with me." she bent down and picked up a dirty stocking, throwing it at you. and she was right. theodore loved you more than all of his friends combined, so you could already picture him bolting through the dungeons and straight through your door after seeing that you were missing. he wouldn't even have to be told why you weren't present.

pansy left then, leaving you to suffer all alone. you were barely able to get out of bed to clean yourself up. even moving around was hard. it took you about two minutes to drag yourself to the bathroom and and another fifteen to leave it. managing your hygiene had never been more exhausting.

just as you collapsed back into your bed, ready for a few more hours of torture, the door of your room opened. there went theodore, holding one of his hoodies, a bunch of period products you weren't sure how he acquired, and some chocolates he had stolen from lorenzo's drawer. your heart may have simply melted.

"hi." you peeked at him from beneath the covers, your voice small and tired.

"oh, love." his face twisted with concern as he took in the sight of you. he quietly shut the door and was next to your bed in a matter of seconds. he clumsily set all of the things he brought onto your nightstand, eager to have you in his arms as soon as possible. he shrugged off his robes, kicking his shoes away too. you tried to sit up, and once you did, he took the opportunity to take the shirt you had slept in off of you. he replaced it with his hoodie before settling down next to you. it smelled like him, which was also one of your favourite things in the world. you sighed, a warm feeling overwhelming you.

"tell me if you need anything and i'll get it for you, okay?" he brought the blankets all the way up to your neck, throwing an arm around you and pulling you close. he was willingly missing out on classes for you. could you just let that slide?

"theo–" he placed a finger against your lips to hush you, "i can take one day off, it's not like it's gonna kill me." he retrieved his hand.

"but–"

"no buts." he made you get closer, and you let out a startled giggle, momentarily forgetting about the pain you were in.

you laid there in silence for a little while. theo was rubbing comforting circles into your back, pressing a kiss to your forehead every now and then. it eased you a little bit, and you weren't feeling so terrible anymore. the pain was still there, but whatever he was doing made it a little easier to bear.

"is it really bad?" he questioned after seeing you had scrunched your face up. you hummed and he sat up, reaching under your bed. "where is it– oh." he pulled out the hot pack he knew you sometimes used in similar situations, heading for the bathroom to fill it up with warm water. he returned rather quickly and reclaimed his position on the bed. he adjusted your pillows and placed the hot pack against your stomach, throwing an arm around you again. it made it a little difficult for him to pull you completely against his chest, but your own comfort mattered more to him.

"thank you." you sighed. he gave you a look, not a particularly annoyed one, but one that told you that you didn't have to thank for him doing things like that. he pecked your nose, the urge was too difficult to resist. you exhaled comfortably, taking a hold of his hand and intertwining your fingers.

he began massaging your knuckles, and you shuffled closer, as close as it was possible, burying your face into his chest. he kissed your hand this time before releasing it, and tangled his fingers in your locks instead. you loved it when he played with your hair, and he loved it just as much, mostly because you were giving him a fantastic excuse to touch you.

"what explanation did you come up with for missing classes today?" you questioned, suddenly feeling curious. your cramps slightly reduced in their intensity, so you didn't mind talking or even getting up for a bit.

"i just told it as it is." he shrugged, continuing to play with your hair. he tucked a strand behind your ear, smiling at you.

"what?" you chuckled in surprise.

"i told mcgonagall my girlfriend wasn't feeling well and that i wanna take care of her." he was so, very causal about it. you were surprised he actually knew what to do to help you. you did assume he asked pansy, but it at least meant that he cared. and it made you that much more happy to have him there with you.

"really? what did she say?" you raised an eyebrow.

"she was a little annoyed but she understood what i was getting at," of course she did, she couldn't not, "and then she told the other boys to take notes," he grinned proudly, "draco especially."

you burst out laughing, "that did not happen."

"yes, it did," he snickered against your cheek before placing a big, loud kiss against it, "you can ask anyone." he pulled back, but did not move away. you were so close that your noses were touching.

"hm, i think i'll take your word for it." he smiled again, and you pecked his lips, another way to thank him for doing all of that for you, "i love you." you whispered.

"i love you more." he gave you a cheeky grin.

"wrong." you retorted playfully, poking at his chest.

"that's up for debate." he put his hand over yours, holding it in place.

"do not argue with me." you warned, not very seriously, though.

he snorted at your teasing reply, but didn't push the discussion any further. on a different day, he probably would have. that one adored getting on your nerves more than anyone else in the world, but he wasn't so stupid to do it when you were having such bad period pains. there were other things to be done. he said he'd give you cuddles, and kisses, and hugs, and snuggles, and even more kisses and everything in between. and he did just that. that one time, and all the other times.

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

WIBTA if I broke up with my girlfriend for not taking her meds?

My (24M) girlfriend (28F) has bipolar and BPD. We've been together coming up on 3 years now. For the last half a year we were together it was pretty rough and turbulent, she was unmedicated and was having suicidal breakdowns almost every day, ended up in hospital several times, threatened and got into physical altercations with other girls who spoke to me or she thought were flirting with me, and I was spending almost every single day of my life having to take hours to talk her down from suicide or self-harm. It was emotionally exhausting and as someone who's also had suicide attempts in the past it was also incredibly triggering and damaging to my own mental health.

For additional context as to why I feel the way I do, my last girlfriend also had diagnosed BPD and NPD and when she stopped taking her medication she became fully abusive both physically and verbally and it took me a year of being absolutely beaten down to finally snap and leave her.

(Obvious note: I'm not saying everyone with bipolar, BPD, or NPD is abusive or that these illnesses inherently make you abusive. They were an abuser who just happened to have those things, and that played into how they acted and thought/felt.)

Current girlfriend eventually got medication and has been doing much better for most of the time since then. When she's on her meds she's a wonderful and generally pretty healthy partner - she's supportive, understanding of my boundaries, checks in with me, she's a year clean from self-harm, hasn't displayed any kind of self-destructive behaviour. She's gotten a job and managed to hold it down (got fired from several jobs in the past because of her daily meltdowns meaning she wasn't attending work), she's started exercising and going to the gym, she's picked up new hobbies, made new friends, she's just been doing great in general.

For about the past month though, she started going days without taking her medication and when I reminded her she would say she didn't want to, that she hated taking it, that she doesn't like the way it makes her feel etc. This is something my last girlfriend said too, and I know it's really common for people with BPD (and maybe bipolar too?) to stop taking their medication because they feel emotionally flat in comparison to how they feel off of the meds. I pretty much said that I couldn't handle going back to how she acts when she's off of the medication again and that if she was going to stop taking them then I didn't think our relationship would last through that kind of period again because last time it completely destroyed my mental health, my sleep, my life and several of my relationships due to how much energy and time I was having to put into her vs. myself and everything else. I suggested asking her doctor/psychiatrist/etc. for another dosage change or meds switch again to see if that would work better (though up until recently they have seemed to be working great so I'm not sure how good of an idea switching it up again would be).

She agreed at the time but I was kind of concerned about whether she'd been keeping up with it or not because over the last few weeks I've already noticed things devolving again - her screaming at me out of nowhere and having mood swings, intense jealousy and possessiveness, impulsive behaviour, even a couple of breakdowns again and having to talk her out of self-harm for the first time in over a year. True enough, today I found out she's been pretending to take her medication and throwing them out. When I confronted her about it she admitted she hasn't taken her medication for weeks.

I pretty much withdrew after that and didn't say anything at that moment but after a while she asked me why I was being so quiet and I basically repeated what I'd said to her in the last conversation, that I was honestly rethinking whether or not the relationship would work because I can't handle that kind of emotional exhaustion and constant sacrifice all over again. I don't mind some emotional support and some labour of love in a relationship because of course I'm going to need to look out for her mental health and reassure and comfort sometimes, that's the reality of loving someone who struggles, but I can't do it 24/7 again. I can't once again put talking her down for hours every day and weathering screaming and violent lashing out all the time at the expense of even my own basic needs and my own mental health struggles (for example my c-PTSD from my last relationship).

When I said that she got very very upset and basically said I was forcing her to choose between me and freedom or being able to live a normal/unmedicated life (which I mean, I guess I can't argue with because in a way I am making her choose between me and stopping her meds), and that I couldn't control her like that. I told her I wasn't doing it to control her and that if she's really determined to go off of them she could, but that I would have to make my own personal choice to walk away as a result of it for my own sake.

She said she'd think about it but ever since that conversation I've been going back and forth in my head on how much of a dick move it would be to flat out just do a black-and-white "Either you stay on your meds and regulate your behaviour or I leave"

TL;DR Girlfriend wants to go off of her medication, but when she's off her meds she has almost daily suicidal breakdowns and lashes out at me physically and verbally. WIBTA if I broke up with her if she goes ahead with stopping?

What are these acronyms?

[trendywaifus]

I've been dealing with the worst headaches ever for the past few weeks (the garbo ones that make you throw up)

And I also have been mildly irked by the lack of Marcher x Fem!Reader fics, so

🙏I wanna request March 7th comfort fic.

I feel like she's not very popular because she's a silly bonky-wonky loudmouth that just says what's on her mind rather than being all domineering and mysterious (like how Kafka, or Arlecchino might be portrayed), or hiding it because they don't want to stress you out (like how Robin might).

So anyways, I was curious how March comforts Fem!Reader after like, a really awful day.

It can be SFW, or not.

Hope you have a good day, Trendy :>

nah i made this a little different just for you and your stupid headaches! they suck ass! I’ve been having those type of headaches for the past weeks too. and march is underrated, I prefer to date her than kafka and the others cus at least she’s an open book😭. I hope your weeks been getting better, bud.

despite being in space, it feels like you’ve stayed in your cabin all morning. a pained groan rumbles in your throat as you turn in bed, series of sharp pains bouncing off the walls of your skull. you feel terrible, absolutely terrible. waking up with a migraine and not being able to get out of bed to even go to the bathroom sucks. everyone is probably at the dining hall eating breakfast. you let in a deep breath then exhale, mustering the mental strength to lift your aching head from the feathery pillow. “ up we go—ow ow. . “ as soon as you sat up, you dropped back down in pain. your stomach churns as defeat kicks in.

“ damn, should i text march to come and bring me a bottled water and pain pills? hopefully she’s on her way here since i’m missing breakfast. “

luckily your speculation was right as your cabin door slides open and your girlfriend strolls in. her gaze immediately locks onto you laying down on the bed. “ babe, you’re still sleeping? everyone’s waiting, come eat! “

you groan and march’s brows raise with concern. “ march. .headache. . “ you mutter, looking at her with pleading eyes. she gives you a sympathy look as she walks over to your bed and sits on your bedside. “ aww, sweetie, “ her digits brush the hair away from your eyes, “ do you need me to get you some pain pills? i’ll bring your plate to you too. “ you smile at her, grasping her wrist and softly squeezed.

“ please. but can i lay on your chest while you massage my head first? you’re great with massages so let’s see if you can help me. “

she looks a little hesitant but she nods with a smile. “ i don’t know if this is a poor excuse to cuddle me or not but okay. only for a little though! i gotta get you some pain pills and breakfast because i hate how exhausted you look right now. now scoot scoot. “

you give her as much space as you can without triggering a sharp pain in your head. she slides in bed and the soft scent of cherry perfume wafts against your nose. “ c’mere you. “ march helps you move on top of her and settle. you nuzzle into her chest while she loops an arm around your waist and starts getting to work with massaging your head. her manicured fingers gingerly graze your scalp, almost instantly sending warm shivers up your spine. “ i’m so lucky that you’re my girl. “ you mutter into her shirt, closing your eyes to the soothing sensation of her head massage.

you hear her playfully huff, “ sweetie that’s sweet n’ all but, but i’m worried that this won’t work. i’m not exactly a miracle worker, y’know. “

“ hm, you are to me, “ you mutter, the aches are of course still there, but you like to believe that your girlfriend’s fingers are helping you relax. “ even if you don’t think so, marchie. “

what you don’t see is her warm smile and dusty pink cheeks. what you do feel is her smiling lips planting a tender kiss against your temple.

[llyfrenfys]

Project Update

Bore da! Coming to you today with a little update

As explained in my September Update, I have been focusing on my mental health these past few months due to various life events I've been dealing with, namely;

In mid-March my long-term relationship came to an end and I had to make an emergency move into a new flat due to no longer being able to afford the rent. I was then in hospital due to ketoacidosis (a buildup of ketones in the body which causes the body to be too acidic, which can be life threatening). In April I lost my job due to whistleblowing health and safety concerns (and also experienced direct disability discrimination. I will be taking my former boss to tribunal over this). In July I briefly had a new job, however, due to poor mental health I could not carry on in the role. And in July I was informed that a family member has been diagnosed with a terminal illness.

Despite all these major life changes, I'm still determined to keep on doing what I love (my research) and sharing it with you all. These events have taken their toll, however, and I'm struggling to make ends meet without a job (I have enough in savings for three months of rent, excluding bills and food). I have applied to many jobs in and around Aberystwyth and I hope to hear from one soon.

August was exhausting, after the events of the past few months. But I'm finally feeling well enough to write and create again. I had struggled for months to format my undergraduate dissertation but as of last week I was finally able to finish making edits. I'm happy to announce that I have made it available on a pay-as-you feel basis (you can pay as little as £1!) to help support me in the interim. The link to get a copy is here:

Researchers are welcome to email me at lub57@aber.ac.uk for a free copy.

In addition to this, I'm going to be launching some Welsh-language/Welsh themed LGBTQ+ prints! If you enjoyed my queer Welsh county pride flags, my Welsh Gilbert Baker flag design or my Cardiff pride flag mashups, I will be making these into physical prints (UK, EU and US shipping available) very soon, so do please keep an eye out for that!

Hwyl a diolch yn fawr am darllen,

Luke

[mangoshorthand]

I just saw your little post, I'm sorry I didn't clarify. Yes, I am a cis woman and I have more of a swimmer's body (I've been a swimmer for years so it's partially natural and partially conditioned) with wider hips and broad shoulders (typical swimmer long legs too). I hope this helps and sorry for such an inconvenience 😅

- birthday anon 🎂🎉

Original request, (paraphrased):

It's my birthday today and I was wondering if I could get a happy birthday from Five. I guess my prompt would be that throughout my life a lot of people forget my birthday (even my family) and often don't show up so if Five just remembered and decided to be soft and sensual and caring, that would make me the happiest person ever.

No problem Birthday Anon. Sorry this took a couple of days. Happy belated birthday! Also I made you a barista sooo...enjoy that I guess.

The Birthday Girl | Five Hargreeves/ F Reader 2.8k words, Rated E

Being born at the start of the year was always a harsh reminder of the fact that you weren’t the main character of all existence, something which it took most people much longer to realize. It was worse when you were a kid, with Christmas and birthday presents amalgamated into one by relatives already stressed out from gift-buying, but it still kind of stung now. Yeah, people had lives and it was a tricky time of year, but you surely didn’t need to be the main character of all existence to have people simply show up for your birthday. 

It was a nice place, you thought, glumly as you popped the olive from your martini into your mouth and chewed it thoughtfully. Not too crowded, the music loud enough to dance to without prohibiting conversation. The drinks were cheap and good quality. It would have been the perfect place for a birthday get together. 

You sighed and rested your elbows on the bar. You should have got the picture by now. You were a full grown adult, you knew how it went, and yet you still foolishly invited all your friends and even some family out. 

You’d never imagined that all of them would come, but you thought that at least a few would turn up. Over the past week, as you’d expected, they’d nearly all messaged their excuses and apologies and dropped out. For some, it was too close to going back to work after their christmas break, some were still away, while others were still recovering from New Year and unable to face the idea of partying again so soon.

You didn’t really blame those guys, (at least they had the decency to inform you that they weren’t coming), but you couldn’t help feeling angry at the no-shows who hadn’t even bothered to inform you, leading to you sitting alone in this bar, all dressed up for nothing.

“Hey.”

You turned your head, surprised to hear any voice addressing you. 

“Five,” you said, smiling nervously in greeting.

This was not what you’d planned. He was your favorite customer, yes, he said you made the best coffee in the city, but could you call him your friend? Did two years of late-night coffee twice a week count as a friendship?

He usually came in on one of your late shifts, looking immaculately dressed but gray with exhaustion. At first, he hadn’t talked, just drinking his coffee in silence and leaving with a murmur of thanks and a generous tip, but over time he’d been more receptive to your gentle offers of conversation, and gradually he’d shown up primarily to talk, sitting at the counter as you worked, sipping endless cups of coffee and keeping you company. 

What he hadn’t told you himself, you’d put together from snippets of conversation. You knew about the Umbrella Academy and the apocalypse, but it didn’t really factor into your picture of him. To you, he was just Five: the amusing mix of pessimism, wit, and an old man’s nostalgia for times past incongruous with the body in its twenties.  

Over the time you’d known him, he’d grown into your life easily. He had you looking forward to your late shifts and spending the time between them making mental notes of things to tell him next time you saw him. Your conversations with him were easy and intimate (you’d told him a few things you wouldn’t tell your diary on your deathbed), but the relationship was still this weird, context-bound thing. He was the customer, you were the server.  

He’d surprised you into inviting him to this little get-together a couple of days before new year. It was your first late shift after Christmas, and when he’d arrived and taken up his usual perch at the counter, one of his first remarks was:

“It’s your birthday coming up in a day or two, right?”

“Uh,” you faltered, “Um - yeah.”

He looked at you doubtfully. 

“You don’t sound very sure.”

“No, it is. I’m just surprised, is all. People always forget.”

Five shrugged.

“You told me last year. You swapped shifts to go out for dinner.”

“And you remembered that?”

“Yeah.”

It touched you, the way he spoke so casually, as if he couldn’t possibly do anything but remember this about you. So you invited him to come tonight, hoping he’d say yes but not read too much into it. For months, maybe longer, you’d been wondering, and his attitude then was the thing that pushed you to find out once and for all.

You had to know for sure whether this was something: whether you and he would be the same in a different environment, or whether this thing would just crumble to nothing outside of the diner’s soft-lighting. It would be a good test, you thought, and having other people there would act as a buffer in case of any awkwardness. 

In this, you had been thwarted, because now he stood beside you, looking more smart-casual than you’d ever seen him, frowning in a gray blazer over a dark tee.

“Well…happy birthday,” he said, dumping a giftbag on the bar with a clunk that signaled a bottle inside, “it’s rum. You said you liked mojitos.”

“Thanks,” you said, nodding, as he sat on the barstool beside you. 

He took a quick glance around, intelligent green eyes taking stock of the bar. 

“Is it just us?” he asked, raising a quizzical eyebrow in a way that made you chuckle.

“Yup,” you smiled, ruefully, “most people canceled, but there were three who just haven’t remembered to show up. I told them to meet me an hour ago, but no word.”

He frowned again, so you offered a little explanation:

“People forget when your birthday’s just after the holidays.” and then, with a smile at him, added, “Except you, of course.”

“Hm,” he said, with an air of contemplation, perhaps reflecting on why you’d told him to meet you later than everyone else. Seeming to dismiss it, however, he turned back to you:

“So you’re stuck with me?”

You looked back over at him, and a smirk developed on his face, one corner of his mouth turning up to complement his cocked eyebrow. 

And in that moment, you made a decision, one that was two years in the making. Why play these games? Why experiment with him? Worst case scenario, he finds another diner. 

“It’s stupid to be here with only two of us. Do you want to come back to mine? Maybe we crack open that rum and help me drown my birthday sorrows? I only live on the next street.”

***

The rum was never opened, because on the street outside your apartment, he stopped you with a hand on your arm.

He’d been silent ever since he agreed to come with you, and when you turned to face him outside your door, he fixed you with such a serious look that you took in a shallow breath.

“Sorry if I make this awkward, but I gotta know. Is this just a drink?”

You looked back at him, studying the earnest slope of his brow and his tense mouth; how the two freckles on his cheek disappeared into a small cleft in his cheek. It was a face that surrendered smiles reluctantly, but you could nearly always tease several out before the end of any shift. 

You shook your head wordlessly.

His adam's apple bobbed in his throat. His eyes, so often scowling, scathing or sardonic, fixed you now with a look of pure, open adoration. His thick lashes did nothing to shade you from the intensity of that look, from the opalescent green of his pupils that pulled at you with such fascination. 

When he spoke, his voice was very low.

“I’ve wanted this for a long time.”

You felt your cheeks heat up, unable to keep your eyes on his face, choosing to study the neckline of his tee, beneath which a hint of sturdy collarbone was visible.

He reached out and gently ghosted his fingers down your cheek. 

“How could anyone forget your birthday?” he murmured. 

Then, he leaned forward and kissed you.

The chill January breeze momentarily played about your neck. A shiver ran through you, but not from cold: from his gentle lips against yours; from the feel of his soft hair between your fingers; from his body close to yours. 

Sweet, chaste and cherishing, it might have seemed platonic, that kiss, but for the way his tongue slipped briefly into the fray, though pulling back quickly: showing you that he had more should you wish to take it.

And you did. You wanted it to the point that you chased his lips when he tried to pull away. He smiled at this and let you catch him, letting your lips part his and your tongue enter his mouth. 

Finally, he succeeded in breaking the embrace, though leaving his hands softly on your hips.

“Take me upstairs?” he asked, huskily.

***

His mouth beside your ear, he held you on his lap like a beautiful fragile thing. He ran his fingers reverently up and down your thighs, like a servant privileged to touch precious silverware with kid gloves. 

He kissed you again, soft and syrupy, as if he was eating fruit perfectly sweetened on the vine, trailing his lips down your shoulder, humming with satisfaction.

 “God,” he whispered, “I could kiss you all day.”

The tender hunger in his tone sent a tingle straight to your core. 

It was a shame to have your back to him. When he’d thrown off his shirt as if it was nothing, your eyes drank him in: the softly defined muscles that were outlined by his movements and the trail of sparse, dark hair disappearing below his waistband. All this time, under those sharply cut suits, there was this.

But you couldn’t focus on the regret too much, not with his strong forearms wrapped around your naked body, his smell of antiperspirant and aftershave, and not with the heat of his hard arousal against your ass and lower back. 

His fingers clearly stated their intent against your inner thigh, pausing an inch away from where you needed him most. 

“May I?” he asked, breath tickling your ear. 

You could hear a little hint of mischief in his voice; the ironic move of his eyebrows.

“Yes please,” you breathed.

“Anything for the birthday girl,” he whispered, nuzzling briefly at your neck.

And he stroked your outer lips with gentle fingers, his index trailing back up your slit, the tip skimming slickness that had already gathered there.

He made an appreciative sound at his discovery, and you moaned at the throb of pleasure from just this teasing movement, bucking against him and momentarily pressing his cock against you more firmly.

“You’re so pretty,” he rasped into your ear, fingers parting your outer lips to reach your excited nub and stroking it in smooth, luxuriant circles, “look at you. So perfect.”

You whimpered and tossed your head helplessly against his shoulder. Heat was already building in your sex, your toes curling against your sheets. The foundations for your orgasm were laid from his very first touch of your aching pussy, your body crying out for him from the moment he kissed you. Now, you were helpless to his fingers: as confident and efficient in rubbing your needy clit as in all his other movements. 

“You deserve to be treated special.” he whispered, “This good?”

“Five.” 

“Yes?”

“Five.”

You could hardly say more, brain scrambling like beaten eggs until no vocabulary remained but the name of the man whose fingers were making come slowly drool down your thighs.

“Want me to stop?” he whispered, tenderly.

You shook your head fiercely. 

“Fi-ive!” you whined again, becoming completely inarticulate now as his ankles hooked around yours, holding your legs open gently. He could sense you beginning to ride your edge, could surely sense the heat burning and coiling and tightening in your stomach until - 

You cried out when you came, feeling more come gush from you, soaking his fingers and your thighs alike. He spoke softly to you as the waves of pleasure broke on you one by one, each bringing a fierce buck of your hips backwards against his hard, hot cock, sandwiched between you.

“That’s it.” he encouraged, “There you go. Feel good, sweetie?” 

You could do nothing but whimper and let yourself be carried by the rapture, surges exploding down each limb again and again.

“God, you’re so beautiful.”

Your orgasm subsided, leaving you panting against him. 

Through your recovery, he whispered more tender affirmations and praise into your ear, kissing and nosing at the side of your neck as he tried to distract himself from the tingles going up and down his length and the precome still leaking from his tip as your movements against him teased his excited cock. 

After you’d caught your breath, you became aware of the needy way he was kissing you; of the barely-there grinding of his pelvis; of his dick rubbing against you.

“Can I -?” came the desperate, half-articulated whisper.

“Yes please,” you replied.

He laid you down as if you were fragile, like an injured dove held in cupped hands. His gentle movements offered a stark contrast to the state of his gorgeous, curved cock. The tip was an angry pink, his balls high and tight with arousal. Intrigued, you began to caress that heated, swollen part of him. He hissed as you weighed and massaged his balls in one hand, the other closing around his shaft, already slick with precome.

“Don’t judge my stamina based on this, okay?” he said, voice cracking as his neck arched along with your strokes, “How about you stop that and we can try for quality over quantity?” 

It was spoken with self-consciousness that seemed unnecessary to you, given that he’d just rubbed your clit to a thigh-trembling orgasm quicker and more effectively than anyone you’d ever been with. You let his cock go and kissed him on the mouth as he lowered himself towards you. 

When he entered you, his mouth was still on yours, and you felt his sigh or relief against your lips. 

He filled you perfectly, your plush walls immediately gripping him, surrendering him reluctantly as he withdrew. You could see the tight pinch between his eyebrows. His eyes were already screwed shut. 

“Oh.”

The whisper was small and strung out, and you kissed his cheek and lips to encourage him as he let out a few, trembling breaths. 

“That feel good?”

“Yeah,” you gasped, “it feels good, Five. 

His strokes were slow, but skillful, his hips rutting with gentle fluidity. 

“I want to make you feel good,” he whispered, stroking your cheek, “I want to show you how special you are.”

From the movement of his body alone, you would have imagined him in complete control, not even close to his edge, but his increasingly fevered whispers and messy kisses to your lips and neck told a different story.

“Your pussy is so good. It’s so fucking wet.”

You kissed him back, nodding and moaning in affirmative as that perfect curve rubbed you just right inside, the low tempo building an ache as sweet and gentle as his thrusts. You gasped, pulsing around him, and his hips stuttered for the first time.

“F-fuck.” he breathed, “So hot. So perfect.”

He tensed.

“I’m close.”

You smiled against his ear. You were on birth control and you knew enough about Five to know that he didn’t raw-dog every barista who made him a good cup of coffee. It wasn’t logical or sensible but it was the only thing that seemed right after two years of illogical, foolish denial. 

“Come inside me.”

“You sure?”

You barely had time to confirm it to him before he let out an inarticulate cry. His dick pumped hard inside you, coating your walls with his load with his head buried in your neck, still keeping you gasping throughout with controlled, gentle, sensuous pumps of his pelvis.  

***

“You want coffee?”

You lay, bare-breasted on his chest as Five combed his fingers through your hair, feeling warm, content, and glowing from his tenderness. 

“Let me get it for a change.” he said.

“Wow, it really is my birthday,” you teased. 

You heard a short exhale of laughter as he extracted himself gently from the bedsheets. 

“Sure is.”

And, with as little care for his nakedness as if this was his own apartment, he headed across the bedroom, turning back at the door with a wry smile.

“And it’s not over yet.”

Tag list: (please comment to be added or removed): @thebearmage, @nevbrooke-555, @fiannee, @abeeabee6969

Megalist

Request info + rules

I take Five requests, I'm fairly versatile in what I write (fluff, smut, angst, psychological character study- I'll try it all) but I will consider them on a case by case basis. See request info + rules for request status and more.

[cherry-romper]

reno worrying about captain/platoon leader!reader and fussed over them because they’re always so selfless and reckless in battle. he worries a lot because of his habits with kafka and he just doesnt want to lose reader. angst to fluff please!! thank you:)

Reno x platoon leader!reader

Warning; mild swearing

Contains; angst to fluff, NB!Reader.

Word Count; 2010

Hey! I've been really sick over the past few weeks, plus I just turned 21, so I've been really busy and exhausted, but I'm back to writing! Sorry its taken me so long, but I'm burning thought all the requests now <3 Thank you for this one, anon, it was fun to help me get back into writing <3

Where was everyone? 

Your communication system had been jammed but some unknown source. Desperately, you filtered through every channel requesting back up at your location, but no one answered. You didn’t know how long you’d been out here; time had seemed to stop. The sensation of rain hitting your skin was the only thing saving you from going insane. 

A groan from you comrade pulled you out of your frustration. In the chaos, three of your squad had been badly wounded. One by one, you’d dragged them into a back alley out of harm’s way. The alley’s openings were obscured by smoke. There was no way to tell if it was safe to leave; not that you squad was in any fit state to move.

Out of some cardboard and bin bags, you’d created a makeshift shelter for them, an attempt to keep them out of the rain. You were no medic, as smart as you were, without guidance you could only give them the most basic treatment.

Kneeling before one of your squad, you whipped some of the blood off his face. He winced at the contact, flinching away from you. Giving him an upside-down smile, you mouthed an apology. 

Looking to the other members of your squad, you sighed. They’re in a bad way, if I don’t get them medical attention soon, I don’t think they’ll make it. 

The calmness of the rain was interrupted by a clatter out in the street. Without hesitation, you entered a fighting stance, scanning the entry to the alley for any signs of movement. 

Putting one foot in front of the other, you stained your eyes to see what had made the noise. Avoiding any debris on the ground, you continued your advance. Protecting your squad was your only priority. 

The clatter came again, only this time it was clearer, like the sound of broken glass being kicked. You steadied your breathing, keeping as quiet as possible, stopping at the edge of the opening to see if the origin of the sound would reveal itself. Tightening your grip on your gun, you narrowed your eyes, ready to fire at the first thing that moved. Alas, the sound didn’t come again, nor did any movement. 

Unsure if you should let down your guard, you looked back at your squad. None of them were conscious anymore. Your heart ached at the sight. You knew if they didn’t get help soon, they would surely die. No matter what was out there, you had to face it, for their sake. It what you were trained to do, right? Save people? This was just another one of those times. 

Braving the smoke and fog, you pushed forward. You could barely see more than 10 yards in front of you, it felt like you were walking the wire; one wrong move and you would be dead. You knew these streets, you’d grown up not too far from here, but they were unrecognisable with all the death and debris. 

Curled Yoju carcases lined the street, their cores ripped from their bodies. Beside them, buildings lay crumbled, a reminder of their path of destruction. Smoke continued to rise from pipes and fires, the stench of burning stung at your nose. You pressed on, scanning anything you could for movement, mentally noting the way back to the alley in your head. 

The further you got the thinner the fog became; it was easier to see your surroundings. There was less destruction here, you assumed that meant another squad may be around. You hurried up your steps, still on guard, but impatient to get help to your friends. While sweeping over the lessoning debris, your earpiece began to crack. 

“Hello?!” you stopped in your tracks, pressing hard on your ear hoping to find a signal “can anyone hear me?”

Racing forward, the cracks became clearer. Stay…extrac…0600…yoju still…don’t move.

You heart pounded in your chest, did that say yoju were still present? Raising your gun again you scanned your surrounds, your mind fearing the worse. 

The streets seemed too clean and the wind too quiet for your liking. The feeling of eyes on you creeped up your neck making you hairs stand on end. You circled around yourself, scanning windows, fences, walls, doors for anything out of the ordinary. 

The only cover you could see was an overturned car about 30 yards to your left. Taking a breath and bracing yourself, you dashed over to it, sliding along the floor just in time to dodge a projectile from a nearby building. 

A screech erupted through the air, and the sound of skittering feet made your skin crawl. You’d been fighting centipede type Yoju, and five of them were clambering their way to you. One crawled along the side of the building, screeching and snapping is large grotesque pincers. 

The thing about these yoju is, they’re practically blind. They rely on their other senses to detect their prey. When you had called for help, you gave away your location, and now the fire of your bullets only put you in more danger.

You’d suffered injuries too in the earlier battle, so your combat power wasn’t as good as it needed to be to survive, you could barely pierce their exoskeleton. In that moment, you decided the best thing you could do was run, all the while trying to find a signal to get medic to your squad. You’d made peace with death long ago, you had no issue dying for others. 

As you ran, one of the yoju threw itself on the car, crying out at the absence of food. The stomp of your boots alerted the others of your location and they switched their direction. Shooting what you could at them, you aimed for their legs, hoping to slow them down. 

“Is anyone there?!” you screamed, gripping hopelessly onto your earpiece. You boots pounded at the floor, turning corner after corner, your lungs burning for air. “This is Y/N of the fourth division, does anyone copy?!” 

A few cracks from your ear made your eyes widen. “This is…shina…what…our position?”

Hope. You recalled the co-ordinates of your squad members and screamed them as loud as you could, over and over again, all the while dodging limbs and pincers. 

All you could do was hope they’d got their location. You neared another alley way, if you were quick enough, perhaps you could lose them. Before you could duck into it, a figure emerged from the darkness, a familiar head of white hair dashed past you. Within a few quick blasts, the yoju were no more.

Turning to look at your friend, your shoulders dropped with relief. “Reno,” you breathed, throwing your arms around him, unbelievable happy to see a familiar face. He held you close for a while, happy to be reunited with you. 

Your lungs burned with every breath, as though the air were made of fire. He let you go but kept a hand on your shoulder as you bent over trying to ease the pain. “Are you okay? Did they hurt you at all?” He asked, scanning your body for signs of blood. You shook your head, trying to coherently tell him about your squad. 

“I heard you on the radio,” Reno started, you looked up at him, still gasping for air, using his arm for support, “I also heard those guys,” he pointed over to the eviscerated yoju. “Y/N, what were you doing? We evacuated that area nearly an hour ago, it too dangerous. We’re waiting on reinforcements. Everyone’s been put on standby.” He knitted his brows in confusion, trying to read your clouded eyes. 

“Do they know?” you wheezed, “do they know about my squad?” The shock on Reno’s face told you all you needed to know. You closed your eyes, sorrow for your squad mates paining you more than your own wounds. Reno shook his head, “I heard you trying to tell us the co-ordinates, but the line kept cutting, I’m sorry. Not even I can get a good signal out.”

“But we can try now!” you shouted, clinging to his shoulders, “we can try again!” You pleaded with your eyes, “Reno, they’re going to die. My squad are going to die!” The rain hid your tears, but he knew you were crying.  He took a moment to gather his thoughts. He wanted to help you more than anything, but going back into there in your state was a death sentence. 

“Im sorry, Lieutenant. Reinforcements will be here soon. Captain Ashiro has ordered us to stay put. There’s something out there. It’s jamming our communication system, no one can get a clear line of communication. It’s not safe. I’m sorry, but we can’t get them any help yet.”

While he talked, you shook your head backing away from him. “We have to try! I can’t leave them like that!” He watched you with pitying eyes, trying to lead you back into the alley. He gently grabbed your hand, beckoning you to follow him. Yanking it away from him, you glared daggers into him. 

“I’m going back,” you stated, steading your breathing as best you could, stumbling away from him.

“No, you’re not,” Reno almost laughed at your state. You could barely breath, let alone walk, there was no way he was letting you go back in there. He moved to block your path, using his body to try to guide you back into the alley. You danced around each other, every step you took, he mirrored. 

If you went left, he went left. If you ducked right, so did he. He did his best to keep from touching you, but he wasn’t against using force to get you back to safety. With your stomps, he stomped. With your lunges, he echoed. “Stand down, Ichikawa,” you demanded, stopping in front of him. Frustration threatened to erupt out of you. 

“I can’t do that, Lieutenant,” Reno tried to keep his voice as calm as he could as he swiftly swiped your gun away from your grasp, throwing it down the alley.

“What the fuck?!” You draw the knife from its sheath at the base of your back, pushing him up against the mouth of the alley, holding it to his throat, your anguished eyes stare at him unfocused.  

“I understand,” pressed against him, you meet his sympathetic gaze, “I’ve lost too.”

You stay there for a moment, letting the sound of rain trickling down envelope you. Taking a deep breath, you remove you knife from his throat, tossing it down the alley. Unable to meet his eye, ashamed of your outburst, you whisper an apology to him. 

You stumble back a bit, letting your arm fall to your sides, taking in the carnage and dust around you. He was right, there was nothing that could be done. Defeated, you lean against the wall beside him, slowly easing yourself down to the concrete. Bringing your knees to your chest, you hug them, slowly letting reality take hold.

Allowing you face to fall to your knees, “I can’t lose anyone else,” you whisper between sobs.

“Neither can I,” Reno counters. Lifting you head to look at him, you find him crouching next to you, a sad smile on his lips. You watch him with glassy eyes, unsure of what to make of his statement. Searching for the right words to argue with him, you mutter out stammered ‘but’s. 

Shushing you, Reno takes a seat next to you, pressing shoulder to shoulder. “I can’t lose you, Y/N, not when its avoidable. Once reinforcements arrive, you have my word that we will get medic to your squad. I promise you.”

You nod your head, giving him your best smile. You head feeling heavy, you lean it on his shoulder, fighting unconsciousness. Reno brought his arm around your shoulder to bring you closer, using his hand to stoke your hair. Finding comfort in his warmth, darkness took hold of your senses, all you could do was have faith the Reno would follow through on his word. 

[rj-anderson]

It's quite a thing to adjust to being back on eldercare duty 9-12 hours a day, every day [1], which is pretty close to how my life was five years ago right before my dad's needs became so overwhelming that we had to transfer him to a nursing home. [2]

Except my dad's weaknesses were mostly physical — mentally he was quite sharp for a nearly 95-year-old — and back then my mom was well enough to keep him company, do the cleaning and laundry, and make meals for him so I could focus on managing his home care (and all the phone calls and paperwork that involved), helping him in and out of bed for naps, and wheeling him to and from the washroom as needed. Even if it was a lot of work, I wasn't doing ALL the work, and I could go for a walk in the woods or run a few errands without worrying (much) that Bad Things would happen in my absence. My mom, though, is physically in decent shape for 92, apart from her Meniere's Disease (aka chronic vertigo). But over the past year she's been increasingly losing her executive function and ability to retain recent memories. She's starting to leave her essential items like hearing aids and glasses in odd places around the house, and getting distressed when she can't find them.

Most tasks that used to be routine for Mom are beyond her now, and even writing down the steps for her doesn't help. She either forgets to look at the instructions, or she's too confused to follow them. Even answering the phone is a challenge these days, because if she can't hear the caller right away (which she usually can't, despite the volume enhancement) she starts pressing buttons at random and hangs up on them more often than not.

So for the past three months I've been running downstairs every hour or two all day to give my mom her medications, make her lunch and dinner, do her laundry, take her for her daily walk, answer her phone, turn on the TV for her, shepherd her through her nightly bedtime routine, and reassure her when she's worried about something she can't remember. It takes up a big chunk of every day in addition to my own family and church responsibilities (neither of which I want to give up or think I should). And that's assuming Mom doesn't have one of her out-of-the-blue excruciating nerve pain attacks, a fairly new development which involves a whole other level of care and leave us both exhausted for a day or more afterward. [3]

But the hardest part is that I can't leave the house now, even for a short time, without hiring a professional caregiver or recruiting a family member to take my place. My mom no longer remembers how to phone me in a crisis, and is unable to take any of her needed vertigo or pain medications on her own. If someone isn't right there to help, Bad Things will most definitely happen at some point, and more likely sooner than later.

Worse, I have no sisters, only brothers, all of whom live hours away. And as my Mom's need for care becomes increasingly specialized and personal, they're less and less equipped -- or suitable, from a woman's point of view -- to help her for more than a few hours at a time. And if Mom has one of her out-of-the-blue pain attacks, they aren't trained to give her the injection she needs. [4] So they'd have to give her oral meds and watch her suffer for 30-45 minutes before the pills kick in — and having gone through that myself several times now, I wouldn't wish the experience on my worst enemy. Or put my Mom through that much pain again, if I can help it.

But she's not in pain, or sick with vertigo, all the time. In fact, she can go for days or weeks without an attack. She's able to move about freely with her walker, chat with visiting helpers and family, stroke our two cats and enjoy looking out the back window at our yard. She looks forward to the meals I make for her and exclaims over how tasty and nourishing they are. She's lived in my basement for 20 years now, so everything is familiar and comforting. And right now, she's as safe here as she could be anywhere. The idea of transferring her to a care home even if there was a bed available (which there isn't — the waiting list in this area is 3-5 years for 24-hour nursing care and 10 years for assisted living) just doesn't seem to make sense, or be anything but cruel to her. And while there are some places that offer overnight respite care for up to a week, they only do that for clients enrolled in their adult day programs — which my mom can't attend because of her complex and unpredictable symptoms.

So I don't know when I'll ever get another vacation. I certainly can't take any overnight trips, or even day trips, right now. Unless I hire a registered nurse to stay with Mom the whole time I'm gone, and pay her hundreds of dollars to do it.

I don't really know why I'm writing this, except to get it off my chest. I love my Mom and I want to do my best for her. I'm thankful that despite her physical and mental health issues she is a loving, grateful and overall very obliging person to care for. She thanks and praises me for everything I do to help her, and apologizes for taking up so much of my time. I know she never wanted to put me in this position any more than I want to be in it.

But it's hard. It's really, really hard. And I wish I knew how long this is going to go on.

-- [1] Not counting the occasional calls in the middle of the night, which I hope will be fewer now that I've moved the call bell to keep my mom from knocking it by accident.

[2] Dad passed in early 2020, just before the pandemic. I'm still thanking God daily for that timing because I can't even imagine what it would have been like trying to visit him in lockdown.

[3] We've been to the hospital and our family doctor multiple times about this. Nobody can figure out why it's happening or how to stop it. We're supposed to get a CT scan at some point, which I hope will give us some more answers, but that could be weeks or months away.

[4] I myself was only trained a few days ago, and without any medical background or experience, I'm far from confident about it. Not even sure how well it's going to work, but something has to.

[temeyes]

hi my sweet sweet babes mwah~ JUST dropping in to say that i'll probably refrain from posting art for a few days because i'm so sTRESSSSSSSSSSSED like im not kidding, i can feel my stress levels about to burst through my eyeballs

mostly cuz of personal reasons, i've been physically exhausted the past week and!!! mentally strained from bullshit and i haven't had the chance to fully recuperate cuz things are just piling up one after another (mostly coping by playing stardew valley for hours haha)

as much i really wanna draw rn, im just very unmotivated cuz of everything, i assure you all that i'll be back with my stupidity soon!!

I'LL STILL BE ACTIVE ON SOCMEDS, i'm just not gonna post art LOL SO YOU CAN STILL TALK TO ME IF YOU WANT,,,,

[ellesthots]

Fateful Beginnings

XXIV. “natural curiosity”

parts: previous / next

plot: under extreme pressure to perform, you prepare for your first and final interview with Bruce Wayne. Batman learns intriguing info on the gruesome murder of John Doe.

pairing: battinson!bruce wayne x fem!reader

cw: 18+, mental illness, anxiety

words: 3.2k

a/n: this brings me to the end of my back-posting! we are now up to date across tumblr, ao3, and wattpad 🥳 excited to keep writing more soooon 👀

Was this some kind of cruel punishment?

If it hadn't been for Dr. Vry's unfortunately logical and desperate plea, you wouldn't have said yes—now you were left flying back for half a week. With enrollment for freshmen starting the first day of September, you had to have this in to Bridgit the morning after meeting with him. Thinking of all the belongings you'd just bought for the apartment you thought you'd be living in, you decided against a flight and booked a U-haul for that weekend instead. You'd see if Mar wanted to drive back with you in it, and if not you'd buckle down and do it yourself.

Your parents came back not an hour later. After a few minutes of hugs and chitchat they put themselves to bed, exhausted. Your mom didn't appear critically ill or markedly different in any way (besides a darker tan), so you let yourself relax for the evening out on the couch. A rerun was on the television, the air was stale, and the setting sun stabbed your eyes. You grappled with feelings of guilt as the minutes turned into hours of nothing. You loved them, but was this all you had to look forward to?

Bruce busied himself with monotonous tasks the rest of the day. The panic attack had wiped him out physically, but his mind was wired. A still-relevant yet menial task he felt he could get into a rhythm with involved stealing the giant stack of newspapers Alfred kept by his fireplace in his office for kindling. He flipped through pages and pages of decades-old Gazette publishings, refusing to indulge his curiosity as he passed the months directly preceding or proceeding his parent's murder. It felt like an impossible feat as he discarded them to his left, forcing his eyes to remain tethered to the current moment. Eventually he found clippings from the past few years, and he nestled into the corner chair to pore over their contents. Why was the Gazette failing? Why was the journalism department going to shut down? He distinctly remembered his parents reading the Gazette together every Sunday before church. On the walk to church, he remembered people sitting on park benches reading it. He only paid attention to the comic strip curated by the art majors, but even as a young kid he knew the paper was influential.

As he skimmed through the recent few years of publishing he couldn't discern why sales were lower. It was putting out relevant information that was decent to read... He stood up and walked down the hall to Alfred's room, and found him buttoning his cuffs. "Master Wayne, what's wrong?"

Bruce shook his head. "You read the Gazette, right? Do you know how many people read it?"

Alfred finished the last button and shook out his sleeves to straighten them. He shrugged. "I don't know precisely, but in concept it seems to be doing rather well. On my grocery trips I see lots of people reading it."

Bruce nodded and made some small talk for a moment about dinner ("I've been craving some sausage and cabbage soup, would you mind that, boy?") before making his way back to Alfred's office. He logged onto the computer and looked up sales for the Gazette. While there had been a decline, it had been slow and not enough to completely shut down a department. After looking into Gotham's budget, he realized there was enough budget and in fact, the majority of the Gotham finances were allocated between GCPD and GU. Looking into the school attendance rate there was still a good amount of students applying to the university; less people going into journalism, sure, but still enough to warrant continuing the major. Was Vry a particularly attentive and anxious president, or was it manipulation to get him to agree to be interviewed?

Alfred forced him away by physically walking upstairs to bring Bruce down, and they ate the soup in silence. It was warm, and soothed him enough to take the edge off his guttural sense of impending doom.

The next day he got a call from Gordon. A quick change into the suit and a back exit getaway later, Bruce found himself at the police station. The guards stiffened their spines and glared at him as he walked up; usually it didn't bother him, but after being discovered he felt every eye on him was an x-ray. He walked down a dingy, slim hallway to Gordon's office and knocked on the door. Gordon invited him in, appearing visibly stressed. "In the office on a Saturday?"

"Hey. I don't know what to tell you, but the results came in inconclusive."

Bruce narrowed his eyes. "No idea what the metal is?"

"That's not exactly the problem." He reached into the desk and pulled out a plastic EVIDENCE bag smattered with pokes from the sharp metal inside. It landed on the table with a sharp rap. "We know what it is, but we are lost as to its function."

Bruce swirled the bag so the shrapnel tilted and moved about its cage. Gordon continued. "We brought in a few dentists, even one doctor, to clarify why this might be used as a filling but no one had heard of it before." He quickly continued. "Well, one guy did. Said he used to be a chemist. He'd heard of the metal, but said it was bordering on corrosive. He couldn't make head nor tail of why it would be used in a man's mouth."

"What is it?"

"The man said 'Electrum'. I made him repeat it because it sounded made up." Gordon rolled his eyes and bit his lip, lost in thought. His tone was biting. "I just want to find these punks. Can't have someone causing crime scenes like that running loose."

He'd never heard of Electrum. He opened his mouth to speak but Gordon continued again. He's talkative today. "The man said its properties are that of a 'spark to light up the wire'. Something about conductivity. I think it's just some man who got an under-the-table dental. Probably cracked open a soda can and peeled off a clip to tuck into his gums." By the end he was mumbling, and quickly stood up.

"They were certain it's Electrum?"

Gordon nodded. "He said it was clear. Bet his life on it." And with that he left, motioning to be followed out.

Electrum. Nothing could be found on the web about it. Alfred didn't know, and there had never been a mention about it in any newspaper since 1800 (any further back he couldn't find). By this point he was exhausted, and hadn't even realized he'd pulled a whole weekend staying wide awake. He physically pored over every newspaper article himself pre-1900, his smart engine struggling and misreading the small, fuzzied print. There was nothing that could even be vaguely related to Electrum. Fuck. He dragged his feet up to bed and crashed early Sunday evening.

Had it really only been a strange, foreign filling? Usually this would be his favorite type of thing to sleuth out, something no one could find but he could; he would read the small print from an article in 1806 and solve the mystery, following its crumb trail to an ultimate victory. It was the perfect catharsis, but he was too in his head. All Monday afternoon he twiddled his thumbs and waited for evening, but when evening came he couldn't bring himself to put on his suit. That one scrap metal felt like it was lodged in his tooth, giving him an emotional toothache. He slipped into bed and laid on his back with his arms behind his head. He gazed up at the ceiling, drawing a mental map of the situation. The John Doe couldn't be traced back. Dentist, former chemist, clarified it was Electrum. Electrum can't be found anywhere. No trace of it. Testing was inconclusive. Bordering on corrosive. Man was stabbed repeatedly and hung by the blades. Owls were etched into hilt. Owls were etched into pins and rings of the Gotham University president... Bruce squinted. How could he gain more information on Dr. Vry? His first thought was a Batman interrogation, second idea stalking her in his car for a week to see what she was up to. Both options, especially the latter, caused an internal cringe. Much like he couldn't shake his suspicion about Electrum, he couldn't shake the thought you embedded in him that he was too invasive.

Being invasive to criminals isn't bad. Often, it's the only way to catch them. Your voice came into his mind. And you're assuming she's a criminal. What happened to probable cause?

Her jewelry insignias perfectly match those on the weapon in an unsolved murder.

Perfectly, huh?

Almost.

Almost, yeah.

Even imaginary you mocked him. He continued having a conversation with himself until Alfred knocked on his door. He bristled and sat upright in bed. The old man leaned against the doorframe and gazed at him, spectacled. "Wanted to check in. Social battery ran out, I assume?"

Bruce stared down at his sheets. "Unsolved murder. Can't find any clues."

"Peculiar. Not much stumps you these days."

He struggled not to receive it sarcastically given how vigilant Alfred had been about his mental wellbeing the past few months. He hoped this wasn't another request for him to meet with his therapist, but his hopes were quickly dashed. "I called New Discoveries, they have a few openings this week and next."

Bruce bit back a retort. "If I ever need her, I'll give her a call."

"Bruce,"

"Stop, please. I've got enough to deal with right now."

He leaned in and raised his eyebrows at the boy. "Your analyst could help with that."

"I don't need someone to tell me my parents died."

Alfred heaved a deep sigh. "I'm worried about you."

"I'm not talking about this." This was the push he needed to get out and into his suit. He jumped out of bed and strode firmly past him, ignoring Alfred's calls to get him to 'just make a phone call'. He was surprisingly swift getting into the suit and out on the town. Guilt plagued him at abandoning Alfred, but this was about the tenth time they'd had that conversation since June and it was making him ill. He wouldn't mind seeing his therapist again, he'd liked going after the murder, but he didn't think he could handle being forced to reckon with his mortality at this point in his progression. He still wasn't sure it existed, and until he tied up all the loose ends about the owls, or his symptoms got significantly worse, he was going to ride this last high as long as it let him.

The next few days with your parents went smoothly. It was almost like before your mom had gotten sick, plus Walter. Walter was ecstatic to see your parents back, and you no longer sobbed in the shower out of lonely desperation. You were able to distract effectively through various arts and crafts with your mom, and by the time you were starting to need 'me' time she would tire. You spent some time with your dad fixing the back deck and pulling some weeds out of the raised flower beds. You tended to the pumpkins your parents had planted in June, and harvested some bell peppers and blueberries.

You avoided thinking about Gotham until you were in Gotham; you hadn't even mentioned to your parents you'd been fired/quit, and figured they'd know when a U-Haul ended up at their house with you and Mar inside. The quiet neighborhood was relaxing when your family was around, but that desperate feeling of loneliness was pinned to your chest. The town felt more desolate after being in the city, the quiet felt heavier when they were gone, and knowing how fragile her health was you figured you'd spend more of your life without her than with her. The combination threatened to consume you, and you spent every lull in conversation and every night lying in bed unable to sleep from worry about finding your purpose in life. What interested you? What motivated you? What were your values? How could all of the above be translated into a livable life?

Where did you belong? Did you belong here, in the sleepy town with wide open skies? Did you belong in a city with skyscrapers and sardine-squishing sidewalks? You liked the access the city afforded you. When you'd first moved there, you'd been enthralled by the hundreds of restaurants and stores within a mile's radius. You'd maxed out a small credit card being silly and young, trying cuisines you'd never even heard of. You found cute themed shops that were abhorrently overpriced but nonetheless aesthetically pleasing to visit. But the city moved so fast, and just in time for you to settle into a routine with a favorite restaurant they'd be closing shop. It was cutthroat and intimidating, and you felt softer. Too soft. Life here was too slow as to be entirely, aggravatingly boring. There were only a handful of restaurants in town and they were all dying fast food chains strung out amongst various struggling mom and pop shops that wouldn't dare invite in a health inspector. But the nature was beautiful, and sometimes you loved the quiet breeze of it all. You had no friends besides Mar who you could never see leaving the city, a degree that was worthless in the current economy, and your extended family lived in south Florida for some unknown reason. You only saw them once a year at a family reunion that was usually in July, but had been postponed to Christmas. Ugh.

On Monday you set off for Gotham. You'd arrived on time a few days earlier to ensure you could properly pack your stuff. Day one was filled with throwing out the perishable groceries and giving yourself a moment to breathe outside of your childhood home. The food tasted bland, your favorite shows had lost their spark, and your bed was lumpy and hard. The floors were cement and made your feet ache with every slapping step. The water took ages to heat up compared to home, and you kept watching your step for Walter who never showed. The flight had been frustrating. Your head pounded. You felt like screaming into an empty field, creating a dust storm from pounding your hands into the dirt until you were bruised.

Day two after arriving back to Gotham, you sat down at your small desk in the corner to think up some questions. It was impossible to focus, but you kept yourself to task by repeating you'd be out of here permanently, genuinely, so, so soon. As you stared at the blank page, anxiety sprouted. It hadn't before occurred to you that everyone would be reading this; in fact, everyone would likely be seeking this out so much it would be translated to different languages hours after being published. For a moment you couldn't wrap your head around why this time felt so much more high-stakes, and then you remembered the fate of an entire university department rested on how marketable and quality this interview was... and remembered how obscenely rich and powerful the subject was. You twiddled your fingers just slightly above the keyboard, nervous to even begin to dive into it.

The first thing you did was peruse Scypher, especially their forum sections.

SEARCH: Bruce Wayne

SEARCH: Mr. Wayne

SEARCH: Bruce

SEARCH: billionaire

SEARCH: Gotham

SEARCH: Gotham City

SEARCH: Gotham and Bruce

SEARCH: Gotham and Bruce Wayne

You sifted through hundreds—if not thousands—of posts thirsting after him. There were pap photos, one-shots written daydreaming about him, some tweets hating on how rich he was (you liked those), but the vast majority were simply pining after him in a public arena. You got a small sense of what people wanted to see from him, but not enough to create a substantial question.

You went onto Google and searched the same things. A handful of articles from major news outlets were titled similarly: What We Know About Bruce Wayne, the Orphaned Billionaire. People generally knew about the circumstances of his parent's murder, that he lived at home with his maids and butlers (was there more than one Alfred?) and everything that he'd announced at Gotham University graduation. There was logistical data on his Wikipedia page such as his height, birth date, current age, and where he went to school growing up. Information for the past decade was slim, the only bits being where he attended college, his date of graduation, and his major. It appeared the only times since his parent's death he peeked out into the public eye were school-related.

No one knew anything about his personal life, and you worked yourself into a tizzy brainstorming ways to persuade him into talking about himself. Where was the line between too benign of a question and too invasive of one? What was relevant information to someone high-profile's first interview? You'd spent hours digging into the first interviews of now-major celebrities, but they all happened before they rocketed into fame. This was different: he was born famous, and now at age 30 he was finally speaking to someone. After a certain point in your research you feared you would need to be the blueprint for this kind of thing; even nepo babies had been interviewed as children, asked questions such as their favorite musicians, movies, books, and colors. How did you show the public he was normal, personable, even? Did you even want to make him appear normal, because he didn't seem it. He was an enigma. Someone you couldn't quite peg.

You took a deep breath and closed your eyes. What's my goal with this? No one else's, mine? What do I want to learn about him? What are my natural curiosities? This led to an immediate rush of creative energy, questions popping up left and right; you didn't care about how invasive or off-kilter they might seem. After the brainstorming, you gathered the questions into three categories: COMFORTABLE - DEEPER - DANGEROUS.

The first contained questions that were more basic, and likely wouldn't elicit an emotional response in any way to the interviewee. The second probed a bit more, considered more thorough and juicy. At this point an interviewee might be more choosy with their phrasing, or pause to think about it. The final category was fully questions of your own mind, questions you didn't think you'd ever ask but wanted to be put to paper. These were so juicy as to be intimate, so personal as to be disorienting.

When else would a woman have the leverage to ask such a dizzyingly powerful man anything she wanted?

[inkskinned]

i've been in pretty much constant pain for the past 4 months. i have a slipped disc. the mri this weekend finally confirmed what i'd already suspected. mostly, i just put up with it.

i've been in a pretty bad mental space since winter began. my brain is leaking out from between my ears. i just don't care enough to listen to the rabid wet whispering of hope. i'm mostly just bored of being here, the swaddled joyless apathy.

the back pain ebbs and flows, but it's there, so i take care of it. i do my physical therapy. i get in with a specialist. i'm lucky - there's no immediate need for surgery. it's bad, but it could be worse. when i talk about how i did it (it was a very bad sneeze), i usually start laughing. it's funny! i am never comfortable, but hey. i'm young. i'll bounce back, or so they keep saying.

i just found out it's not normal to wake up every night with a category-five panic attack. i'm lucky if i am still able to remember how to spell my name right. i spend my days in a weird blank haze, exhausted, desperate for respite - only to be unable to rest during the night. i say with a laugh - i really hate it when my mental illnesses start working together. i mean, sure. unionize. it's fine. i have lost all sense of myself. there's nowhere that's actually warm in my mind.

i feel bad how often i complain about my back. my friends immediately shush my apology. dude, you slipped a disc. continue complaining.

as a kid, i think i only really admitted to the bad things... twice. for some reason, when he didn't just dismiss it - it made my dad angry. he slammed a door at me. you're fucking ungrateful. what do you have to be sad for?

what an odd delight: the slipped disc gave me the oddest wave of relief. i'm allowed to actually hurt about this thing.

i have chronic conditions which aren't "real" things. i could write a novel on the weird ways people respond to my POTS & the rest of my fun physical acronyms. i am kind of ashamed to admit - i like the way it feels to be able to say well, because of a slipped disc. a slipped disc is a real thing. a slipped disc is serious and painful. there's diagrams and infographics about slipped discs. upon my diagnosis, they immediately offered me narcotics.

i haven't been able to get up out of bed for more than a few hours. i do less and less and less and less. i have started to sit down in the shower. sighing my way from deadline to deadline. this again. in one day and out the other. people tell me i don't really need my meds. i have run out of times saying i have depression, it's become almost transparent. it's so bad my therapist suggested meeting more than once a week, but i don't want to worry her, so i never finish setting up a second meeting. every creative spark in my soul has been entirely ravaged - but that's just capitalism, baby. i don't even take the day off of work. i just show up and do a bad job and get yelled at for it.

it's not real, after all. the pain is just imagined.

[wompcod]

I've never posted here before so TO WHOM IT MAY CONCERN: I found this post by the lovely @call-of-duty-incorrect-quotes and got the urge to expand on it a little. THANK YOU LIZZY YOUR POSTS ARE SO GOOD!!! 🙏🏻 ❤️ I also hardly ever write angst and I have never posted before so if you see any typos, naur. Ficlet starts here ���️⬇️ Mind the tags!!

Price, for the first time in a long time, didn't know what to make of this situation.

It started three weeks ago, Ghost was acting differently. At first Ghost was less talkative and it was clear he was becoming more and more exhausted—to Price at least, Gaz too. They chalked it up to the constant work of trying to put Makarov down once and for all. They all were, none of them had been this tired in a long time, Ghost especially.

But then it got worse. Ghost would refuse to speak unless spoken too, his eye bags were visible through the black eye paint if he even bothered to put it on, and he became violent. Ripping people to shreds when on missions. It was understandable but it wasn't necessary, and he knew it. He was being sloppy. Uncalculated. They had only been on a few missions since the incident in the train tunnels but it was clear a pattern was forming.

Two nights ago, Price decided to go to Ghost's room to talk. It was late at night and it was one of those few recent days where they had the opportunity to get a full night's rest, but when he made it to the stairs with Ghosts quarters it was barricaded with the couch and the table from the 141 rec room. When he pushed past, his door was blocked by the nightstand and desk.

It was Simon who let him in and broke down. Price had never seen him like this in a long time, it was almost uncanny. The lieutenant was doing his best to hold back tears but was failing. He struggled to get his words out but eventually told he he was seeing things.

Seeing Soap. "He won't stop trying to crawl into my bed at night. I've tried everything," he cried. "Locking the door, barricading the stairs—" he waved his arms in the air, not knowing what to do with his hands—"I don't know how he does it."

Price wasn't upset about the fraternization, he knew the moment Simon and Soap met they would be something. Kyle caught on soon after he was introduced to them. What he was upset about was the fact that Soap was dead. He died three weeks ago in the train tunnels. The day Makarov blew the bullet into his head and got away.

Simon spread his ashes himself.

Price had no choice but to take him to get a psych eval. He never wanted to think that Simon would one day go crazy but he didn't know what else to do.

The on-base doctor said that, aside from saying he was crazy, he wasn't exhibiting any other behaviors that would support these claims. He had been seeing a therapist for a while before this whole mess, he didn't have any history of mental illnesses or any disabilities that developed or ran in the family that would give him these problems. At the most, depression all those years ago after his father and Roba. The doctor said it was because he was grieving and sent him back saying he was clear to keep working after a few days of on-site leave. Price didn't see it. Simon would never act this way simply out of grief. He didn't when his family died. Why now?

Price was sitting in his office yesterday when he got a visit from Kyle. It was clear he was crying but made the effort to stop himself before entering the office.

Before he could speak Price guided him to the spare chair and asked him, "Kyle, what happened?"

"I saw Soap."

Both Simon and Kyle are saying they saw Soap. In the flesh.

They talked. Kyle said he was leaving the firing range when he saw him. Soap was apparently just standing there, looking at him. Kyle said he was wearing the gear and clothes when he died. There was blood on his left temple and his nose was bleeding.

A soldier asked him what was wrong, when Kyle blinked Soap was gone. Kyle didn't respond, he made a bee-line to Price's office.

It was too coincidental, both Kyle and Simon are saying they're seeing Soap within two days. It can't be psychological.

Price told Kyle he would do his best to keep him and Simon from going off the deep end. That he was there when they needed to talk. Don't go to the doctor, they can't do anything.

Now, the next day, the sun had set and he was filing the last of his paperwork and the reports regarding the most recent mission in his quarters. A weapon shipment in London was being escorted by Makarov's men—since the incident, he hasn't shown his face, the coward. Things were fine in the first half, the cargo was small and minimum security, but given their luck recently something just had to go wrong. Kyle had gotten shot in the leg, Simon went ballistic, it's why they aren't on the field now. By the time it was over they were dirty, covered in blood, surrounded by dead bodies, and beaten tired, but they were able to keep Makarov from building his arsenal bigger than it already was. It was just disappointing it was such a small dent, if it even made a dent.

A knock interrupted Price's thoughts—ramblings, really.

The sun was setting, everyone knew to not bother him so late into the day unless it was an emergency. Only his boys had that privilege of visiting him when they wanted. "Come in," he rasped. He turned away from his paperwork, finally finished, and moved to grab his cup of water from the nightstand. He'd hardly spoken to anyone all day aside from Laswell. She said she would comb through the boys family medical history to see if there was any possible undiagnosed problem, but that was all she could do.

The door handle jiggled and the door creaked open. A moment of silence entered the space. Price turned around. The door was ajar, but no one came inside. "You can talk to me," he said, maybe Simon or Kyle got cold feet and didn't want to be a bother. No one answered. Price abandoned his water on the nightstand.

He opened the door, but no one was there, odd. He stood there for a brief moment, waiting to see if either of him men would turn up but it didn't happen.

He shut the door. The draft made the room cold. He opened the closet and pulled out a pair of pj's and tossed them on the bed.

Something flicked his hat, tilting it forward and down his forehead. He whipped his head around, no one was there. The room was dead silent. A thought weaseled its way into the forefront of his mind. Soap was the only one who would do that. 'The only one on base brave enough to flick the captain's hat,' other soldiers would say. Simon and Kyle wouldn't get in any trouble, but they knew it was Soap's thing. He'd do it whenever he needed to get John's attention, or when he felt like it. It was endearing.

John's heart ached. Soap was always like a son to him, just as much as Kyle and Simon. He wanted to stop himself from thinking about it, but he couldn't. John is not crazy. Neither is Simon. Neither is Kyle.

A creaking sound from the floorboards cut through the silence, but John hadn't moved. The creaking turned into squeaky footsteps. He stood as still as a statue and listened to them.

They circled around the room, the supposed draft from just a moment ago seemed to come back, it circled him along with the steps. It wasn't a draft. It was just cold. What is happening?

"Captain?"

John whipped his head around, he's sure he gave himself whiplash this time but gave the sudden, sharp pain in his neck no mind.

Soap. Soap is standing there. He looks pale. Confused. Hurt. Hugging himself tightly. His mohawk was a mess. He looked the same way Kyle described him. Except, a closer look tells him it wasn't just blood on his temple. It was the bullet hole. John adjusted his hat back in place, as of it covering his eyes slightly was the reason this was happening.

"Why is everyone acting so weird," Soap asked. His voice was hoarse and his eyes were red and puffy. He stepped forward

"Soap..." John stepped back.

"Ky's been ignoring me for weeks, and Si...Simon," Soap started crying and hugged himself tighter. John wanted to cry too. Soap, his sergeant, his boy, has been suffering even after he died.

"Simon keeps shutting me out," he sobbed, "I don't know what I did! He won't tell me! Kyle won't even look at me!"

John's body moved on its own. He wrapped Soap in a tight hug, Christ he was freezing.

Soap latched on and sobbed into his shoulder, but the tears didn't stay for long.

After a few minutes Soap pulled away and wiped his face, the blood that spattered on his eye smeared. John looked closely at him, he was partially transparent. He could see the light from the lamp behind him shine through his skin just barely.

"Captain," Soap asked, "my head hurts...what happened?" He rubbed the palm of his hand on his right temple.

John didn't answer, he couldn't. What was he supposed to say, 'you died three weeks ago'? Is this even real? It's a nightmare, it has to be, but it feels too real.

When John didn't answer, Soap held back a whimper in his throat and walked around. When John turned around, Soap was gone. The door didn't move.

John didn't sleep that night. He's sure Simon and Kyle didn't either. Laswell gave him an update, neither Simon nor Kyle have any plausible mental disabilities or illnesses that could cause any severe stress or hallucinations but John didn't care about that anymore.

Simon watched the sunset. Johnny loved watching it with him. Watching the vibrant hues of the sky, orange and gold, turn to deep purple and blues kissing the green grass until only the stars shined in the sky. Simon loved it. The stars shined in Johnny's eyes so brightly.

It's why he's here, on the outskirts of the property maskless. He could still hear the firing range but the base was far away enough that no one would think to sneak out this way and get away with it, no one as skilled as them. Simon twiddled a dandelion between his fingers. He never blew wishes, didn't think it was real. Johnny did though.

He closed his eyes, blew on the small weed, and watched the tufts of white drift off in the cool breeze. He hopes his wish will come true.

The air in front of him got colder. Before he could open his eyes he felt a pair of familiar lips on his, no longer warm. The kiss was slow and tender, and despite it being so cold Simon had missed this desperately. He lifted his hand and touched Johnny's cheek, tilting their heads and deepening the kiss.

Johnny pulled away first, "Thought I'd find you here," he whispered. He adjusted himself and sat at Simon's side, looping his arm around his and locking their hands together. Johnny rested his head on Simon's shoulder. Simon felt the tell-tale lump building in his throat and did his best to swallow it down. He couldn't speak.

When he didn't respond, Johnny continued. "We confessed to each other here, shared our first kiss and our first time together here, too. Do you remember?"

"How could I forget," Simon breathed. He didn't dare look to open his eyes. He doesn't know if he could handle seeing Johnny in the state he's in. But when Johnny asked him to he couldn't help it.

Simon could feel the tears roll down his cheeks while his nose became stuffy and warm. Johnny lifted his free hand and wiped the tears off. He was so pale. Simon missed his sun kissed skin. The stars weren't shining in his eyes anymore. He still had the hollow wound in his left temple. It wasn't bleeding but the blood on his face and under his nose was still fresh and bright red. The gear, unmoving.

"Whatever happened between us, we can fix it," Johnny quaked. "We always do."

Simon feared this. Kyle learned from his parents all things paranormal. They always loved the investigations and scary stories, saying that sometimes certain ghosts get stuck in a loop. They don't know they died. It's why Simon was here. A 'trigger' for the ghost in question. Kyle said it would trigger Johnny's memory and help him possibly move on.

Johnny, poor Johnny, sitting here with tears matching Simon's as he tries his best to understand what's happening, doesn't have a clue of what's really going on. Hell, he doesn't seem to even remember Makarov.

Simon had to say it. Tell him he was dead, help him move on, it has to be him. He would've done the same. "We can't, Johnny—"

"Why? Why won't anyone tell me what I did—"

"Johnny," Simon interrupted, "don't freak out when I say this but," he could feel the words mingle with the lump in his throat, he forced them out with a sniffle, "you're dead."

Johnny's eyes widened. "I.." he stumbled over his words thinking of what to say next. When he couldn't, he asked, "Si, what are you saying?"

Simon twisted in his spot and cupped Johnny's chilled face in his hands. "I need you to remember. Vladimir Makarov? The train tunnels three weeks ago? What Makarov did to you?"

"I don't know what you're talking about—" Johnny held his hands over Simon's.

"We all split up, you and Price were alone, Makarov got the jump on you and—"

"Stop it." Johnny demanded firmly pulled away from Simon and turned around. "Stop saying that." He sniffled.

Simon stopped. Saying what in particular he couldn't tell, but he had to push. He recalled his words just before. There was one word that persiste, he tested it slowly, "...Makarov?"

"Stop it!" Johnny stood and backed away, "It...hurts. Makes my head hurt. Stop it, Simon please." His presence flickered faintly as he held his head in his hands.

Simon wanted too, he hated to see it damage his Johnny so badly but he couldn't live with himself if it meant Johnny would stay trapped. A never ending loop of visiting the firing range, the training grounds, the demolitions area, their spot, then Simon's bed that inevitably one day wouldn't be his anymore. The thought of Johnny wandering aimlessly years down the line, confused on where they all went, what happened, and why things were changing. Alone. The thought felt like a knife twisting in his heart.

"I know, love, I know" he reassured the Scot. He reached out and gently held Johnny's hand in his, giving him space but still showing him he was there for this. "But I need you to breathe, I need you to remember.

Johnny sniffled and wiped his nose with his free one. He froze when he saw the blood smeared on his hand. His gloved hand. "Why am I..." He looked down and looked at himself. He hadn't noticed he was dressed like he was being shipped out. Johnny assessed himself quietly. Going over the empty pockets on his tacvest. Johnny's eyes widened more than they already were, "The tunnels..." he trembled, "Makarov..."

"Love," Simon asked. He stroked Johnny's hand with his thumb but it didn't calm him down. The flickering was worse now, non-stop and he was becoming more and more transparent.

"No..no, no, no no," Johnny fell to his knees with his head in his hands. Simon tried to catch him but he just phased through with a sharp chill running up his spine.

Simon knelt down to his level and did his best to comfort him, but how could he? Is this it, he thinks, maybe Johnny is finally passing. Hopefully. It hurt that this was the last they would see each other. This was how they left each other. At least until it was Simon's time, he thinks. He isn't entirely sure how it works. He never took the thought of an afterlife into consideration until three weeks ago.

Johnny lifted himself off of his knees and shoved his way past Simon, and when Simon turned around he was gone. The night became silent aside from the crickets and the faint sounds of the base nearby. Simon crouched down and sobbed. He felt some relief but the deviation settled in his heart and attached itself to his lungs. He upset Johnny—no, well yes, but he didn't have a choice. He had to help Johnny move on. This was how it had to be.

He doesn't know how much time had passed when he started his trek back to the base. He cried until he couldn't cry anymore. He hadn't even cried that hard when his family died. He already felt less human back then but Johnny was the one who revived the Ghost. Now Johnny is gone.

The last of their leave flew by and none of the group had seen Soap since.

Ok that's all, bye 👋🏻 *runs away*

[destourtereaux]

his #1 best friend - james f. potter x fem!reader (part 2)

read part one first!! summary: after a month of dating james, you come to discover some bizarre flutterings within your heart. the problem is, you’re sure he doesn’t feel the same way… wc: 2.1k taglist: follow @lovebirdupdates and turn on notifs!

prompts (from @novelbear): “sad…i have a blanket with all this extra room and no one to share it with.” “don’t say that, i love every minute spent with you”

a/n: it’s been so long since i've written anything! praise the winter holidays for allowing my creative juices to flow again :) also… i tried some angst in this one! it’s not great, but it’s my first time, and it was pretty fun to write. i hope you enjoy!

It had been a week since you made the unnerving discovery of your developing feelings toward your best friend. You repressed them as best you could…but it’s as they say: the heart wants what the heart wants. It was just bad luck that yours wanted James Potter, while his wanted Lily Evans.

Now, everytime the Gryffindor paid for a date, it was no longer a moment of happiness; instead, it served as more of a reminder that this was simply a deal between the two of you – nothing of substance. Worse, you knew Lily was slowly taking more of an interest in James, a fact he eagerly reported on every mealtime, a reminder of the ticking countdown on your ‘relationship’. Although you knew that whatever you two had was foundationally fake, you couldn’t help but dread the day you would have to say goodbye for good.

The next month was a big month for Gryffindor. The first official Quidditch Cup matches were about to begin, following the months of recreational play. The game was Gryffindor vs. Hufflepuff, and James had been spending every waking minute with his team on the pitch. You, on the other hand, were preparing for some grueling midterm exams. The Quidditch athletes might have gotten them postponed, but you weren’t as lucky… So, while James was coaching and running drills, you were practically breathing DADA, Charms, Transfiguration and whatnot. This led to a lot of all-nighters for both of you, and only a brief, exhausted conversation before you both drifted off into sleep.

******

On the day of the big game, James was hyped. No matter how nervous he may have been on the days preceding the match, he only ever felt excitement on the day of. After one of his famous pep talks to the team, they were off.

A few moments later, James scored his first goal, welcomed by thunderous applause from the red and gold crowds in the stadium. But his mind was on one person and one person only. As he flew past the stands, his eyes searched for you instinctively, sifting through the hundreds of spectators. In fact, the action was so automatic that he never stopped to process how just a month ago, it would’ve been Lily he was looking for.

Much to James’ disappointment, you weren’t in your usual row, where he’d grown accustomed to you screaming with the crowd and smiling at him with unbridled joy. He glanced around in concern – just where were you? You usually never missed a match…

He stored a mental reminder to look for you immediately after the game, and rejoined his team.

******

You didn’t mean to miss the game. It’s just that you had been studying so hard lately, skipping meals and losing sleep in order to keep your grades up. One moment you were reading over the Potions textbook and the next, you were fast asleep, cheek pressed onto the page.

This was how James found you. Instead of joining in the festivities in the Common Room, he found himself pulling away and heading up the girls staircases. He pushed open your dorm door, hoping you were alright, and found you curled in your chair, hair strewn over the pages of your book, wearing his Quidditch jersey.

And just like that, his concern and disappointment melted away, leaving behind a warm feeling in his chest. ‘You look good in my jersey’, he thought, before covering you with a blanket and turning off the lights.

******

You woke up an hour later. You rubbed your eyes, drowsy for a second. Then, realization hit as you caught sight of the time… “Shit. I missed the game.”

Your first thought was of James, and you practically ran out of your room in a rush to find him and apologize. You hurried up the boys’ side, passing by the celebrations without a second thought. Shoving open James’ door, you find him asleep on his bed, a peaceful expression of happiness on his face.

‘I guess he must not have noticed that I was away,’ you thought, with a pang of sadness in your heart. You mumbled a quick ‘Nox’ and turned away, heading back out so as to not disturb the exhausted Gryffindor, but you’re stopped by the sound of his voice.

“Aw, leaving so soon, Y/N/N? That’s sad – I have this blanket with all this extra room and no one to share it with…” he pouts. 

Your heart leaps, and you roll your eyes at him, “you’re so cheesy, Potter.” But you climb in beside him regardless, revelling in the heat radiating off of him. “You’re like an oven – how are you this warm?”

“Maybe it’s so I can keep you close,” James jokes, still half asleep, “we all know you’re basically cold-blooded.”

You scoff, “wow, and I was going to apologize for missing the big game.”

“Y/N? Apologizing? Now that, I’ve got to see,” James laughs, and dodges the slap you try to land on his arm – curse those Quidditch reflexes. “Oh come on, Y/N/N, I’m kidding! I missed you at the game today. Seriously.”

You wince, “I know. I’m so sorry. I can’t believe I fell asleep. I was prepared for it too!” pointing at your attire.

The boy smiles, looking at the jersey you’re donning, and kisses your forehead. “I know. You look stunning, honest. It definitely threw me off to see your spot empty though. You’re my good luck charm, you know.”

Your heart jumps at these words, betraying your brain’s messages to stop believing in this - whatever this was. Your cheeks bloom with red, and you’re glad the dark of the room hides their flush. “Yeah yeah, save the lines. We all know that’s your ‘Lily flower’” you poke with a forced laugh, ignoring the pang in your chest.

To your surprise, James doesn’t join in. Instead, he pauses, as though confused, before offering up a slow smile. “Ah, but she’s not here right now, is she? Y/N, you are the only girl for me. Swear on Godric.”

You laugh awkwardly. He’s joking, you know he is. The whole of Hogwarts knows of James’ undying love for Evans, it’s like a part of him. So why is he acting as though you even hold a candle to Lily’s flame? Screw it, you think. You might as well enjoy the moment while it lasts. And so, your smile is genuine as you drift off to sleep in the Gryffindor’s warm embrace.

Hours later, Sirius and Remus head up after the party to find the two of you, fast asleep in James’ room. They sigh simultaneously, wondering why the hell you’re both so blind.

******

You were able to make it to the next game! Midterms were basically over, save History of Magic, but you already knew that was a lost cause. And so, you headed to the pitch along with the rest of the school, clamouring and cheering for Gryffindor.

You were the first face James noticed when he looked over at the crowd before the whistle. You smiled at him, and your eyes crinkled at the corners. James beamed back, so lost in thought of you that he almost got in the way of a pass between his chasers.

Your mouth forms a perfect ‘O’ of fear, but thankfully, he recovers, and the bastard even has the audacity to wink at you before flying away. What an idiot, you think, as you let out the breath you’d been holding.

******

Gryffindor won again, beating Ravenclaw, albeit narrowly. James stumbled off his broom, tackled by his team members as they formed a huge heap of cheers and joy.

As soon as he could extricate himself, he pushed himself up to find you smiling at him, a bouquet clutched in your hands.

“For you! I read somewhere that guys never receive flowers, and I found that so sad. So, here you go. Congrats on another match well played, Potter.”

James is glad his cheeks are still red from the game because it helps conceal the blush spreading like rapidfire across his face. He takes the bouquet with one hand, then pulls you into his side with the other, landing a kiss on your forehead. “Thank you, Y/L/N. This means a lot,” he whispers into your hair, amidst the whistles from his teammates.

******

Back in the Gryffindor common room, music is blasting, and everyone is in high spirits. As you climb in through the portrait hole, James asks if you’d like some punch, and heads over to get some for the both of you. You’re left with Remy and Sirius on the couch, both of them looking at you with knowing smirks.

“What?” you prompt.

“What do you mean, what?” Sirius responds, “You like James. It’s rather obvious.”

Your cheeks immediately redden, and you deny it at all costs. “As if. In case you forgot, we’re fake dating. Emphasis on fake!”

Remus chimes in at this, “In the beginning, sure, but anyone with vision can tell that it’s not an act anymore. Do you know how many pranks James has blown off to spend time with you?”

You laugh at this, “maybe James is just growing up, you guys.”

“Prongs? It’ll be another 10 years before that happens,” Sirius quips, but stops as he follows your line of sight.

There, near the punch table, is your date, talking to a certain redhead. Scratch that. He was never yours. You knew this would eventually happen, so why does it still hurt like so?

Turning away so Sirius and Rem don’t see the tears welling up, you excuse yourself immediately, ignoring their protests. Running out of the common room, you curl up on a window sill looking out at the darkening sky as the tears come rolling down.

******

It feels like an eternity has passed when you finally hear a familiar voice. The very voice you could recognize anywhere and yet wish it were not here.

“Y/N! What is going on? I came back with the punch and you were gone. Sirius and Rem are giving me the cold shoulder too?”

You quickly wipe away the tear tracks off your face, hoping you don’t look too devastated. “Did Lily finally ask you out? Is the deal done?” you smile weakly, committed to the very end.

“What are you talking abou–” James starts, but you cut him off.

“I’m happy for you, Jamie, I really am. But it hurts right now. So I would appreciate it if you could leave me alone for a day or so. I’ll get over it,” you force out, knowing the last part is a lie.

James opens his mouth again, but you lift a hand. 

“I know it was stupid of me, I mean we made a contract, for Godric’s sake! How did I still manage to mess up? I went into this knowing that every date we went on, every moment we shared would be fake. Fillers for until you could repeat those same activities with Evans. So why do I still feel so bad?” you choke out, before the tears in your throat silence you.

James winces, and pulls you into his chest, stroking your back.

“If you would just let me finish, Y/L/N! You’re so stubborn, honestly. First of all, don’t say that. I love every minute spent with you. You’re kind and brave and so incredibly funny. Don’t ever think like that again. Seriously,” he starts, “and second, I was going to say that Evans never asked me out. In fact, she was congratulating me on how good you and I were together.”

You pull away and meet his eyes, stunned. “I- what? I’m so sorry James. I guess it just didn’t work ou–”

Now it's James’ turn to interrupt. “No, Y/N/N, you still don’t get it, do you? It’s not Lily for me anymore, it’s you. She was right, you make me better. I just never realized until now.”

Your eyes widen in disbelief. James Potter, the golden boy, liked you back. Your face breaks out into the first genuine grin in hours, and you finally let yourself believe it.

Seeing this, James laughs, and steals a kiss on your cheek. “Now that you’re happy and all, how about we talk about your little spiel just now?” he prompts, waggling his eyebrows. 

You elbow him, ignoring his protests, “how about no. I think we should pretend this never happened.”

“Not gonna be that easy, Y/L/N. Weren’t you just crying over me? James teases. “Hey! Wait up!” he cries out, hurrying to catch up as you hop off the ledge and walk away.

As you near the portrait hole, he finally reaches you again, and swings an arm around you.

“So… does this mean I can kiss you now?”

“James!”

******

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